


Guiding Light

by wkemeup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst™, Canon Typical Violence, Dissociative Episode, Explosions, F/M, Hydra (Marvel), Kidnapping, Longing, Major Character Death (But Not Really), Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Panic Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut, Torture, Trigger words, vague/brief suicidal ideation, youre kidnapped and bucky loses his goddamn mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 102,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get the intel and go home. Until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by Hydra. While you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, Bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. Not until he brings you home. If he even can.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 69
Kudos: 195





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> series playlist can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1szUVDh0lZX0Ta5tVbvPUY?si=-EYdJz4vQ92Ip59UjDN52g

Sweat dripped along the side of your face, beads tingling against your neck as they ran down from your brow. Dampened flyaway hairs, a brush of your sleeve over your lips, and you stalked your prey, stalking around Natasha as she sent you that teasing smirk, warning you she was readying to pounce. It was her only tell.

An agonizing minute of circling the ring, just pacing around one another, waiting for someone to strike, and Natasha dove forward at you. Her hands gripped onto your shoulders and she swung her body weight out around your waist to send you barreling to the floor. Your back landed hard against the mat with a heavy thudand even Sam cringed from the sidelines as he watched.

In the moment of distraction as Nat glanced over to Sam who had started throwing playful taunts at her, you kneed her right in the hipbone and rolled out from under her weight, gaining the advantage enough to swing your legs against the back of her knees and send her tumbling to the ground. Red hair flowing up around her head like a halo as you pressed the heel of your hand to her chest, kneeling proudly above her.

A smile broke out on her face through labored breaths. “Well shit.”

You laughed, extending a hand to her and she took it graciously. After you helped Nat up to her feet, you bent over the ropes of the ring in an attempt to catch your breath, taking the weight off of your tired legs. Muscles aching and skin glistening in the aftermath of the long-winded training session, you reached for your water to find the plastic empty. Sweat dripped off the edge of your chin to the mat beneath you as you crinkled the bottle in your hand and tossed it into the bin.

Nat wordlessly handed you her own, half-filled, and offered you a swing. You took it gratefully and chugged back the remainder, a sliver spilling out the sides of your lips though you hardly noticed it amongst the sweat. You handed it back to her and she sent you that cocky smirk again, shaking her head in a laugh.

You narrowed your eyes and she nodded cheekily towards the double doors of the gym. Following her gaze, you clench your jaw at what she had been eyeing.

Bucky.

Towel draped over his shoulder, gym bag filled with gloves and boxing tape hanging from his left hand, as he walked into the gym with a natural swagger that was sure to have you biting on the edge of your lip. 

He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants he had stolen from Sam’s closet nearly a year ago and a thin SHIELD t-shirt that didn’t do much to hide the ripple of muscles beneath the fabric. His left arm reflected under the florescent lights as he walked, unashamed of the appendage within the constructs of the compound. He’d come so far from the shy, withdrawn man you’d met three years prior.

You must have been staring too long because Bucky narrowed his eyes on you, even from the distance, smiling softly, just barely a curve of his lips, but it was evident enough to set a wave of butterflies in your stomach. This man managed to intimidate every stranger he came across, stood six feet high with a build that could take down most men and carried a past filled with such horrors and violence. He shouldn’t be able to be as gentle and as kind as he was with you. But he was. And he _is._

He was a paradox. An enigma. He was everything all at once.

A flush rushed to your cheeks and you waved awkwardly at him, ignoring the way Nat struggled to choke back her laughter. Bucky returned the gesture, lifting his hand subtly, and nodding at you. The unspoken connection you shared incredibly obvious to those around you though you made every effort to stifle it when they asked.

Bucky set his bag by the wall, reluctantly dropping your eye, and began wrapping his hands.

“You guys are absolutely pathetic, just so you know,” Nat teased under her breath. “You tell him how you feel, yet?”

“ _Nat!_ ” you hushed, shoving her in her side enough to make her unsteady on her feet.

You stole a glance back at Bucky to find him caught up in conversation with Sam, though neither of them appeared to be particularly pleased about it. He seemed to be distracted enough to not have overheard Nat’s comment, even with his advanced senses, which let your heart slow again.

A steady sigh left your breath as you brushed the sweat from your forehead, and you admitted, “he knows how I feel, Nat. I don’t gotta say it.”

Nat rolled her eyes, though she still wore that smile on her thin lips. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Y/n.”

Your relationship, or lack-there-of, with Bucky wasn’t exactly easy to define.

The first day you met Bucky, he had already been living in the compound for a few weeks. You had been out on a month-long reconnaissance mission in Guatemala while he was getting acclimated to his new living arrangements and you missed the apparent welcome wagon. Though from Steve’s retelling, Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled by the sudden influx of new people in his life wanting to know him and his business, trying to reassure him of a truth of his innocence he wasn’t ready to hear. He stayed seclusive to his room and barely spoke a word to anyone outside of Steve.

It took a whole week after you’d arrived back home before you ran into him for the first time in the kitchen. One morning, well before the sun had risen from behind the trees, you found him pouring what looked like his second cup of coffee. 

You were dressed in your running gear, folding your right leg behind you to stretch the tops of your thighs, when he brought the mug to his lips. He sighed as he took a sip of the steaming coffee and you noticed that he looked years younger when he didn’t wear that constant scowl upon his face, when he thought no one else was around to see something softer, something vulnerable.

He had caught you staring and set the mug on the table, his features hardening in a protective layer. 

You jogged over to him and extended your hand, a careful smile on your lips as you introduced yourself; an agent of SHIELD who had spent nearly five years in combat missions before Steve personally requested your transfer to the Avengers Initiative. He’d seen how you worked when you’d been assigned to his team on a few missions overseas and how you defended him without much of a second thought against Hydra’s double agents in D.C. You knew Steve well by that time and you were more than happy to take permanent residence in his team.

Steve had told you so much about Bucky that it didn’t even cross your mind to tread carefully around him. From all of Steve’s stories from the forties and working closely with him and Sam to help track Bucky down from behind a computer after the chaos in the capital, you felt like you knew him, like he was an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

He had stared at your hand for a few awkward seconds before he finally gritted his teeth and shook it. His grip was firm, solid, and you tried not to focus on the rough feel of the callouses on his palm or the warmth of his skin. You smiled pleasantly at him as he grimaced back at you, like it took all of his energy just to tolerate being in the room with you, though he tried. It wasn’t personal and you didn’t take it as such. You could recognize trauma when you saw it.

He dropped your hand almost immediately, eyes darting to the floor. You made a note to be more careful of initiating physical contact and the fact that he liked his coffee black, and gave him a quick nod, telling him simply you were happy he was here, and left for your jog.

Determined to get to know the new member of the team and help him get settled amongst the admittedly chaotic nature of the compound, you learned his routine. He largely kept to himself, sneaking out of his room only to escape to the gym in the late hours of the night and steal food from the pantry when no one else seemed to be around. He was still in survival mode; sneaking around like he didn’t belong, as if he believed if he was caught eating it would be taken away. Even if he knew he was safe, it came as instinct. It was something he would have to unlearn.

It was around five in the morning before your runs that you’d find him in the kitchen, pouring his cup of coffee. He wasn’t as startled by your presence anymore but he still retreated back to his room after his mug was filled.

One week later, you began starting the pot for him before he even made it out of his room, leaving out the plain white mug he always seemed to use amongst the sea of novelty cups and colorful glasses the team had obtained over the years, and took your position by the wall to begin stretching. 

The look of surprise on his face, though incredibly subtle, was enough to get you beaming. You made every effort to suppress it as to not make him uncomfortable but the sweet way in which his hand grazed over the mug, the sigh in his shoulders, and the shake of his head as if he simply couldn’t understand why anyone would do such a thing for him, no matter how small, pushed the smile out of you anyway.

He glanced back at you, gestured to the coffee in question, and you gave him a slight nod. He swallowed, pushing out half of a smile you were certain took most of his will power to produce and he poured his freshly brewed cup. It was your first victory with him.

After a while, he started to sit at the counter while he drank his coffee as opposed to sneaking back off to his room. He’d sit in silence, staring off into the kitchen as you stretched a few feet away. He’d leave as soon as you said your goodbye and made your way outside.

The morning you found him standing in the kitchen, wearing running shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt he must have borrowed from Steve, you couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at your cheeks. So quietly you almost didn’t hear it, he asked if he could come with you, mumbling something about how Steve had been on his ass to get some fresh air.

You took a risk and teased him by asking if he would be able to keep up with you, despite being a super soldier and all. It was the first time you saw a crinkle by his eyes, the softest of smiles on his lips that made your stomach turn. While you didn’t speak another word as you ran, he stayed at your pace the entire time.

It became part of your routine. You’d meet Bucky in the kitchen, go for your morning run together, and end up back in the kitchen for coffee afterward. It took a few days of that before he started talking to you and once he did, you never wanted him to stop.

He was shy; quieter than the Bucky that Steve described from his childhood, though he was incredibly observant and far more intelligent than the papers gave him credit for. His voice was rough from a lack of use but you noticed quickly that the words seemed to spill easier from his lips when he talked about Steve. He told you about how small Steve used to be, about their adventures as kids, and how he’d have to rescue Steve out of nearly every fight, though it seemed to be reversed these days.

The first time you laughed at something he said, it wasn’t even an intentional joke, but the flash of surprise on his face made your heart swell. He looked at you like you were something from another world, that the very idea of him doing or saying anything that could produce such a beautiful sound was so completely foreign to him. He started smiling more after that.

Soon, you started spending time with him outside of your morning runs. He’d find you outside as you read on your favorite bench down by the water and he’d sit contently just staring out into grounds as you continued your book, stolen glances up at him every few pages. You’d catch him while he was training by himself in the gym, sweat dripping down his brow as he beat the life out of a punching bag, and sarcastically ask if he wanted advice on his form or if he wanted you to grab Sam to try his right hook on next. It was the first time you’d seen him laugh; full bodied and echoing through the gym. You knew instantly from the twist in your stomach that you needed to hear more of that like it was the air you breathed.

Months later and it evolved to meeting up on the roof of the building with blankets and hot chocolate so you could show him the constellations and consistently sitting next to one another on the couch after you all but begged him to come to movie night with the team. It turned into dragging him into the city to visit old landmarks and new bookshops and sitting on the floor of your room listening to the latest playlist you’d made up for him.

It became quick glances at one another when you didn’t think the other was looking and sprinting down the hall the first time you heard him scream in the middle of the night. Cautiously wrapping your arms around his shaking form until he caved against your touch, too afraid and panicked to keep up his guard, especially around you, and you held him through the early hours of the morning. It turned into asking FRIDAY to alert you when his pulse started to increase in his sleep and a nightmare was coming on so you could catch it before it began.

He started to let you touch him even when he wasn’t being ripped awake from the darkest corners of his mind a few months after you met.

First it was his hand when you noticed the anxiety radiating off of him when Tony insisted the team take part in a fundraising gala to help with the Avengers’ public image. A soft brush, just barely noticeably, but Bucky thought about it the rest of the day. Then, it was his forearm as you reached across the table to give it a squeeze casually as you tried to grab his attention while he’d gotten lost in his thoughts over his cereal and he’d burn his eyes to the spot where your touch had left him, feeling empty without it.

While you could feel the unspoken connection you shared, though you denied it was anything more than friendship despite Sam and Nat’s teasing, it was the first mission you went on together changed everything.

You were both assigned to the west wing of the building, seeking out intelligence on a known arms dealer, when a stray agent had gotten the upper hand on you, striking a blade right between your ribs. Blood pooling at your stomach and you fell to your knees, watching as horror flashed over the blue in Bucky’s eyes, quickly replaced by a rage you’d only heard stories of as he killed the combatant.

He gathered you into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest, as he shouted into the coms for a med evac. You’d never heard his voice shake like that before. He was screaming at you to stay awake as the darkness took over your vision, and you swore you had seen tears in his eyes.

When you gained consciousness again, Bucky was sitting in a chair on your right in the med bay. His hand wrapped so tightly around yours, you couldn’t quite feel it from the ache it left behind, unaware of his own strength. The relief that washed over his features when you woke, the pale blue of his eyes clouded by the strain of red lines and dark circles below, confirmed what you had been wondering. That he cared as much as you hoped he did.

After that, you were no longer shy about seeking him out when you needed him. This unspoken, undeniable, connection you shared kept you afloat. Three years since you first met the reserved, withdrawn soldier, and he had become your best friend, your closest confidant, the one person you put above everything else.

He was everything, though you never said it aloud.

Saying it to one another made it real, made it something that could be taken advantage of and targeted by your enemies. It was too vulnerable to admit those kinds of feelings, to confess that you’d fallen in love with your best friend, with the man who had given up so much of himself and struggled just to look in the mirror most days, because if anyone else knew, if your enemies found out the extent to which you’d go for him, what you’d do to ensure his safety… they’d be able to extort you for almost anything.

You wondered if Bucky felt the same, but you didn’t dare ask him.

So, you kept to seeking one another out when the nights became too dark, cheeks flushing red with gentle smiles, watching one another’s backs on missions even if you had to go out of your way to do so, curling up next to him on the couch, and accompanying you on your morning run. Close and still never close enough.

Stolen moments. Real moments. But hidden. From the world and from yourselves.

“Y/n?”

You blinked rapidly, startling yourself back to focus. Nat was watching you with a mischievous grin that only confirmed she knew exactly who you were thinking of.

“Don’t even say it,” you warned and Nat held up her hands in surrender. She nodded towards where Bucky had been standing and you realized he had crossed the plane of the gym and was heading in your direction.

“Hey, Y/n,” he greeted softly, climbing up into the ring and swinging his legs between the ropes.

“Hey,” you responded breathily and you spotted Sam rolling his eyes teasingly behind Bucky’s back.

“Thought you might want a real challenge in the ring,” Bucky offered, the left of his lips curving up just enough to lift at his cheek.

“I’m hurt, Barnes,” Nat scoffed, feigning offense as she jumped down from the platform to join Sam on the sidelines. The two of them snickered to one another as they both headed towards the free weights on the other end of the gym.

Alone, you tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear and looked up at Bucky. It was a wonder how you still managed to feel this nervous around him, like a kid with a schoolyard crush. Even despite all the time you’ve spent with him, the nights innocently curled under his sheets to protect one another from the horrors in your sleep, the time spent stitching each other up after missions gone wrong, and the completely obvious fact that he was so enamored with you that he could hardly stand to go a day without seeing you, you still couldn’t get used to the butterflies in your stomach.

“Think you can handle a round with me, tough guy?” you taunted, a smile tugging at your lips.

Bucky chuckled, that sweet kind of sound that you thought about when you were in your worst moments. “’Course, I can. I’m worried about _you_ , sweetheart.”

There is was. Those little pet names he gave you. You didn’t suspect he did it intentionally as they slipped out with a different name depending on the day, but you noticed rather quickly he didn’t share those names with anyone else.

“You forget I’ve taken you down before,” you teased, stepped out back into the ring and stretching your arms behind your back until you heard a soft _pop._ “Don’t hold your punches this time.”

“I am a super soldier. You remember that, don’t you?” Bucky smiled, shaking out his legs as he followed you to the center of the ring.

“Yeah, a super soldier that’s got an affinity for Pixar movies and a certain ice cream shop in Coney Island. Remember _that? Rainbow Sprinkles?”_

He pressed his lips to a thin line, shaking his head at the nickname you had doled out to him the day he worked up the courage to venture out to the old memory with you. He was shocked to find the family owned shop he visited with his little sister still standing and he ordered the same thing he used to get back when he was young. You couldn’t let it go the whole walk around the city, laughing and clinging onto his arm for support, though he didn’t much mind that at all.

The deadliest assassin of nearly two generations and he orders _rainbow sprinkles_ on soft serve vanilla ice cream _._

“Watch yourself, Y/n,” Bucky grinned, adjusting his stance as he cracked his neck to the side.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky shrugged and you let out a breathy laugh.

Then, you charged.

Bucky was exceptionally skilled in combat, but you were trained by some of the best fighters in the game. You could hold your own against him, even in the stray moments he forgot to hold back the full force of his strength.

It wasn’t because he underestimated you that he held his punches, because he saw you as an equal on the battlefield before he ever saw you spar, but because he was capable of ripping a door off its hinges on pure accident and could dent a solid metal bar with his grip. He had to be careful with you, for more reasons than he’d say aloud.

Your left swing was caught by his forearm and you spun around to plunge your elbow into his ribs, sending him back a few feet in the impact. He chuckled to himself, urging you on, and he easily defended your next three punches, blocking each one before you could land against his body. On your fourth swing, he caught your first in the air and twisted your arm to a painful enough position for you to let out a shout and he released you.

“Told you to watch yourself,” Bucky teased, pacing around you in the ring. “You’re telling me what you’re gonna do before you do it. I can see your hits coming from a mile away.”

“Oh, so now you’re teaching me a lesson?” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Maybe I am, doll. Don’t want you getting caught off guard in the field.”

“I didn’t seem to have any trouble against Nat,” you countered, raising an eyebrow auspiciously.

“Well I’m not Nat, am I?” Bucky said carefully, gently, a more serious tone to his voice. “There could be more super soldiers out there, and they won’t hold their punches like I do. I just want you to be ready for it.”

You paused, watching as the teasing nature upon his face quickly fell to the anxious twitch of his jaw line. It was in small moments like these that you were reminded of the man you knew in the beginning; timid, insecure, trying his best just to believe that maybe not everything he touched turned to stone. He’d come so far since you’d known him but he had moments where he was still afraid, still nervous he could lose everything all over again, and it peaked through in glimpses, especially when it came to you.

“I know how skilled you are but I just… I want to make sure you’re prepared,” Bucky sighed, lowering his hands. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

“I am prepared for it, Buck,” you replied, moving closer to run a hand over his bicep, bringing chills and calm in its wake. “You can see my hits coming because you know me better than anyone else. Some random bad guy in the field isn’t going to be able to read me the way you can.”

Bucky nodded, his tongue running against his teeth as he took in your words. It took him a minute, and it usually did, to bring him back from the dark thoughts in the corners of his mind.

“Alright? Let’s get back to it,” you smiled, shoving Bucky lightly in the shoulder to pull that grin back onto his lips. It took a moment longer, but as he watched you jumping to circulate the energy back into your muscles, he couldn’t begin to suppress the smile that etched its way back to his face.

This time, he came at you. Right arm swung out to your shoulders and you ducked to the side, dodging his punches in a rhythm you could only find when it was Bucky opposite you in the ring. Almost in a dance, you circled around the ring, catching a hit to his side that caused him to grunt and he clipped your hipbone hard enough to make you step back a few paces.

It wasn’t until he overswung with his left hand against your cheek that you saw the perfect opportunity. You let out a feigned cry, gripping at the side of your face as you stumbled your feet to the edge of the ring, collapsing against the ropes.

It stung, but no more the ache in your muscles and the hits from Natasha you sustained. It was expected that he’d get you at least once, but you milked it to get the upper hand.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, frantic nerves in his voice as he rushed over to you. His large hands set on your shoulders, exceptionally gentle, and carefully turned you around to inspect the injury he believed he caused. “Shit, _shit,_ I’m so sorry, doll. Let me see it. Are you-”

The moment you faced him, you pounced, sending the two of you barreling to the ground. Bucky landed with an _oompf_ and your full body weight on top of him. His hands gripped at the fabric of your shirt to keep you steady in the fall, though he winced as he adjusted his head against the mat.

You smirked, the pride of getting Bucky to the ground a feat not many could claim.

“You faked it, didn’t you?” Bucky grunted, a teasing grin on his lips.

You shrugged, tucking a hair behind your ear as it fell down onto his face. “Maybe you can’t read me as well as I thought you could.”

Bucky chuckled, staring up at you. The cool of his left hand reached up to brush a fallen strand of hair behind your ear; an unconscious, almost instinctive movement he didn’t realize he was doing until he felt the flush of your cheeks register in the plates of his fingers.

His laugh faded away the longer he kept your stare, though that look of something between awe and longing stayed present on his features, almost permanent. Perfect, ocean blue eyes held your gaze, impossible not to find yourself lost in.

His hands unbunched from your shirt and you felt them flatten against your hips. Strong hands holding you still but giving you the leniency to move without resistance, giving you the choice to stay and you took it without a second thought. Heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickered down to his lips; perfect, pillowy, and parted, panting.

The whole world seemed to stop spinning in that moment; a moment you’d found yourself in more times than you could count, though it never seemed to move further than the longing glances, so desperate to close the space between you. The hardened muscles of his chest so evident against yours, the thick curve of his thighs, and his hand pressing so delicately into your hips.

It was so familiar, this dance; ending up in positions like this where it would only take a breath, a moment of courage, and a lapse of a few inches between you until your lips were on his. It was something you’d thought about constantly; wondered what it was like to kiss him, to touch him, to hold him intimately in a way few others ever did.

His eyes were on your lips and you could feel the thunderous beating of his heart through his chest. Too many times you’d been this close, on the edge of something more than friendship that you’d been longing for but too terrified to take the plunge, too many almost kisses and almost confessions. Maybe if you just leaned forward a little, he’d meet you half way…

You let out a shaky breath, eyes daring to dart to the shades of blue, falling closer, his lips ghosting over yours so subtle you could hardly feel it when suddenly, a cough echoed through the gym.

Heart skipping a beat, you turned your head to find Sam standing at the edge of the ring, arms folded over his chest and an eyebrow raised amusingly.

“If you two are done staring into each other’s eyes, we got a mission.”

You scrambled off of Bucky, muttering an apology as you brushed the wrinkles from your tank top. Bucky offered you a hand, helping you back to your feet, and you noticed his release was slower than usual, his fingers trailing against the back of your palm.

“What’s the op?” you asked.

“We need to obtain intel from a Hydra base,” Sam answered, eyeing Bucky with a careful stare. You took a step closer to him, the cool metal of his left hand brushing over yours. “It’s just us, Cap, and Nat. Suit up. We leave in ten.”

With that, he turned and headed back to the double doors, leaving you and Bucky alone again.

After the doors closed behind him and silence took over the gym, you turned to face Bucky. He was stiff, hands clenching at his side as he kept his focus on the wall at the far end of the room. The sharp clench of his jaw reflected in the muscle twitching in his cheek.

“Buck? You gonna be alright?” you asked carefully, keeping your voice as steady as you could manage.

He nodded, though he still couldn’t look at you.

You slipped your hand up the side of his arm, rubbing it soothingly and intentionally let it rest against the flesh of his shoulder, upon the marred skin over the thin layer of his t-shirt. He swallowed, his shoulders relaxing somewhat as you dug your fingers against the scars, massaging the tender area. It was all the seemed to ground him whenever Hydra was brought up, let alone when he was asked to walk right into one of their bases.

“I can talk to Steve,” you suggested. “I’m sure he’d understand if you sat this one out.”

The first time he went on a mission to a Hydra facility, he had been locked in a room identical to the one they kept the soldier in and you found him in the heat of a panic attack, curled up in the corner of the cell. It took nearly seven minutes before he recognized who you were and the fear in his eyes wasn’t something you easily forgot. It had been better since then, but it was always a struggle.

There had only been one time when you convinced him not to go, when he gave in and listened to your pleas. While he stayed him, you had been hurt, _badly;_ caught up in a reign of hellfire from Hydra combatants he would have been able to protect you from, or so he told himself. You’d come home with so many bruises, he had a hard time finding a patch of unmarked skin as you were carried in Steve’s arms through the hanger to the med bay.

He couldn’t risk that happening again.

“No. No, doll. I’m good,” Bucky said, pushing out a smile you could tell was forced. He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, hugging you against his side for a moment as he worked on stilling his heart.

You leaned against him, content to let him hold you as long as he needed before he found the strength to head off to his room to suit up.

“I’ll be with you, you know. The whole time. You won’t be able to get rid of me if you tried,” you reminded him, nudging his side playfully and drawing that smile from his lips you adored. Genuine. Crinkling by his eyes. A relief in his chest.

He should have held onto the feeling as long as he could.


	2. Two

The soft hum of the jet carried through the loading dock as you made your way to the platform. Basked in the light peering in from the open roof above, the dark grey paint of the quinjet glistened; always freshly washed, in constant new condition thanks to the mechanical engineers and technicians hired around the clock to adjust for kinks after each mission. Last time the team brought the quinjet back to base, it was missing an engine on the left wing and the nose was covered in stray branches and leaves from the emergency landing.

As you swerved out of the path of a rookie sprinting past you, the soft touch of a hand slipped into your grasp, just long enough to snatch the straps of your weapon’s bag from your hold.

Turning abruptly to your right, you found Bucky sending you that sweet smile of his that reminded you of the immensely careful and quiet man you had known in his first year in the compound. He lugged the bag over his shoulder without a word.

This game he played, of carrying your bags and taking every burden he could manage off of you, whether it was physical or emotional, only made the nerves in your stomach ache a little more whenever he was around.

“Bucky, give it back!” you laughed, jumping to grab the bag back from him, but he ducked out of your way effortlessly, winking at you before he jogged the rest of the way to the jet. With a shake of your head and a laugh on your lips, you chased behind him.

“You guys ready?” Steve called from the pilot’s seat, tapping a few of the buttons on the dashboard and adjusting a lever over his head.

You nodded, making your way up the ramp to meet Sam and Natasha who had already settled into their seats. Bucky gently nudged the bags with his foot to the edge of the containment area.

“Let’s kick some Hydra ass!” Sam clapped, strapping himself down into the seat as the ramp pulled up from the ground, retracting back into the jet and encasing the passenger hold. 

“The only ass that’s getting kicked is yours as I toss you out of the jet at 30,000 up,” Nat rolled her eyes, though she pursed her lips in amusement. “The mission is for intel abstraction, smartass. Steve said there hasn’t been any serious activity at that base in years.”

“Doesn’t mean we won’t run into a few stray agents. So be on alert,” Steve tossed over his shoulder, his eyes catching on Bucky for a moment too long and for the second time that morning you felt him tense beside you.

A careful glance up at him and he could hardly muster a curve of his lips from the clench in his jaw. You ran your hand soothing along his arm, hoping to ease him, when Steve called back to alert the team he was about to take off.

You took a seat in the row behind Nat and Sam. As you started to adjust the seat belts to fasten yourself into place, you noticed Bucky had yet to move from his position. Narrowing your eyes, you recognized the curl of his fists by his side, metal scraping on metal as he tried to dig absent nails into his palm in mirror with his right. His knees were locked, eyes starring off ahead, so unfocused he might not even recognize you if you stood right in front of him.

He got this way every once in a while; only when it came to Hydra. They had taken so much from him. you understood why he got so rigid at the thought of walking back into their compounds. It was like walking head first into his nightmares. You’d seen him in the middle of the night enough times to know how afraid he was of ending up back in their control, of having his identity ripped away again and chiseled down to the bare minimums, to something outside of himself.

Though, if he was being honest, it wasn’t his worst fear. There was something far worse than losing himself, worse than being forced to commit acts of violence and cruelty for the organization that destroyed him from the inside out, worse than decades of imprisonment and the ice coffin they shoved him in.

Losing you.

Losing you was _so much_ worse. He’d never tell you that, though.

Cautiously, you reached for a strap on Bucky’s jacket to tug him to the seat beside you. His body was stiff, enough so that you had to yank with most of your strength on the strap to get him to even notice you. Blue eyes blinked a few times, coming back to his surroundings, before they sank down to yours and softened. Catching your eye for a moment, watching the way you furrowed your brow in concern and he nodded hazily, taking a seat next to you without another word. 

He pressed out a thin smile, as if to thank you, and started to work on the belts to secure himself to his seat. You clicked your own into place, watching him carefully as his features seemed to harden over in concentration whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

“You sure you want to be on this mission, Buck?” you asked for the second time that morning. You bit on your lower lip, quieting your voice as not to alert Sam or Nat to your conversation. “No one will think poorly of you. Walking back into a Hydra base after all they did to you… it can’t be easy. You don’t have to come.”

“I’ll be fine, doll,” Bucky replied, though there was a nervous ache in his voice that you couldn’t shake.

“Last time you weren’t,” you exhaled, eyes darting to the floor. It wasn’t a memory you looked back on fondly. You could still picture him huddled in the corner of that cell he had been trapped in, unable to recognize you or himself, in the heat of a panic attack. You wiped the image from your mind. “I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”

“I know, Y/n/n,” Bucky sighed. “But that was nearly six months ago. I’ve made progress since then, haven’t I?”

“Yes, _of course_ you have, but-”

“And the doc cleared me for Hydra ops again,” he added, referring to the therapist he’d been seeing on and off since he first came to the compound. Bucky clenched his jaw, pushing out a shaky breath through the grit of his teeth. “Besides, the last time I sat out on a mission, you got beat within an inch of your life.”

You bit your tongue, eyes darting away from him nervously. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“ _It was_ , Y/n,” Bucky retorted, his voice stern though his eyes were soft, almost fearful. “It was _really_ bad. You were in the med bay for days. It took months for you to heal properly and I know you still put makeup on the scar above your eyebrow.”

Your lips parted, hand rushing up to touch the scar he gestured to. It was nearly gone, faded in the months since, but it was red enough that it constantly drew Bucky’s eye, causing guilt to swarm in shades of blue for a pain he wasn’t present to save you from. You had started to cover it for that reason, wanting to shield him from just a small ounce of the guilt he carried on his shoulders. You didn’t realize he knew you were hiding it from him.

“I won’t let that happen again,” he concluded, firm, though he offered you the slightest smile he could manage. “I’m good, Y/n. I promise you, I am. I wouldn’t let Steve assign me to be your partner if I thought I might lose it at any given second. You think I’d put you at risk like that?”

You paused, a soft curve of your lips as you exhaled. “I suppose not.”

“So, there you have it. I’m coming and you can’t get rid of me,” Bucky quipped, nudging you in your arm, lighting the mood again. “Besides, it’ll be nice kicking some Hydra ass instead of each other’s for a change.”

“You’re the one who wanted to spar this morning!” you laughed, swatting his arm to which he feigned injury and nursed his arm to his chest. You hit him again, only for him to burst out laughing. Sam glanced back at the two of you from the row ahead through narrowed eyes, and you both froze. You didn’t miss the way a smirk formed on Sam’s lips as he turned back to the front.

Bucky chuckled again as soon as Sam turned around, and you beamed back at him, enjoying the crinkles up by his eyes you didn’t get to see very often.

Steve spoke into the coms then, communicating with the tower for take-off and your hands gripped onto the straps of your seat. Then, with a soft buzzing and the gentle shake of the ground beneath your feet, the jet hovered into the air.

***

“I thought you said this place was abandoned,” Sam grumbled, hovering over Steve’s shoulder as he watched the infrared monitor upon the dashboard of several dozen agents walking around inside the base, each armed with automatic assault rifles.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, _“I said_ it hadn’t had any outgoing messages in years and it was possible there were still some stragglers behind but-”

“You call that a few stragglers! That’s an entire army, Cap!”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Nat shrugged casually, nudging you in the shoulder as you strapped on the series of gun holsters and knife compartments to your suit. “Right, Y/n?”

“Hell yeah,” you grinned back at her, tapping the barrel of your gun against her knife in a mocked ‘cheer’s and Sam’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head.

Covered in the camouflage layer of the reflective panels of the jet, Steve lowered the aircraft to an open field shielded by foliage a mile outside of the Hydra base. He unstrapped the belts and hoisted himself out of the seat. Looking to his team, he said, “we were trained for this. We’ve seen a lot worse and survived. This is nothing.”

“Great pep talk, Rogers,” Nat teased as she strapped a knife to the holster on her thigh.

Steve rolled his eyes, the hardened features of his ‘Captain Face’ as Bucky had come to call it clenching at his jaw. “Nat, you and me are going to enter the base from the front. We’ll cause a diversion and get as many of their men distracted as we can while Y/n and Buck will take the base from the back.”

Steve turned to you. “You’ve seen the schematics. Use the back channels to get to the command center. From there you can break their firewalls and download the data. Here,” he handed you a flash drive, “you’ll need this.”

You gripped the drive in your hand, studying it blue shimmer of it carefully before you closed it into your grasp. You handed it off to Bucky and he tucked it into a pocket on the left beast of his jacket. He nodded at you, tapping on the closed zipper to ensure you it was safe.

“Sam will be our eyes in the sky,” Steve continued. He straightened his back, hands resting on the belt of his stealth suit. “This isn’t a complicated mission. In and out. Don’t do more than what you’re assigned and we’ll be home in no time.” Steve paused, eyes falling on Bucky for a brief moment. “Our mission _isn’t_ to take out the base. We’re only here to get download the files and get out. That’s it. We clear?”

Bucky nodded sternly, though you could tell he wasn’t keen to the idea of leaving a Hydra base in operating condition. In the impossibly small exchange of glances between the old friends, you slipped your hand into Bucky’s and squeezed it lightly, enough for him to remind himself to take a breath and pull his eyes from Steve’s.

Bucky squeezed your hand back and it brought a smile to your face. You released his hand then, knowing you’d done for him what he needed and that your undefinable relationship with Bucky didn’t extend beyond the walls of your rooms. His hand was not yours to hold whenever you chose. 

“Okay,” Steve said, picking up his shield from the weapon’s cage. “Coms on, everyone. We meet back here in thirty.”

With that, the ramp to the edge of the jet lowered, the bright light seeping into the container enough for you to squint, holding your hand up in an attempt to shield your eyes. Bucky stepped in front of you as he adjusted the straps on his jacket and a shadow cast over you. Relief passed through your vision as you lowered your hand. You finished securing the weapons to your suit and glanced up at him curiously, wondering if he did that on purpose. He only offered you a gentle smile back. 

It was the small things that made you fall in love with him. Sure, his incredible bravery in the face of great trauma and his selflessness on the battlefield were parts of it, and he was likely the most beautiful man you’d ever seen with eyes as blue as the sky and a smile that could knock you straight off your feet.

But it was the little nicknames he reserved only for you, that made your heart swell. It was the way he’d always hold the ropes of the ring up so you could climb under without bending too far down. It was the way he slowly started to show you his smile, his laugh, his cleverness and kindness in small spurts because he was only beginning to trust you all those years ago. It was the tenderness he touched you with when he cleaned and stitched your wounds when you were too stubborn to go to the med bay after a particularly rough mission.

It was the way he held you at night when you couldn’t find your breath and how he’d offer you the last bite of every snack you shared during movie nights and his constant, almost subconscious need to glance over at you ever few minutes just to make sure you were still beside him, like he still struggled to believe you were real most days.

It was the little things that made you love him.

Even as he strapped on a third gun to his jacket and smiled gently at you as if was pinning a flower to his lapel before a fundraising gala he only attended because you asked him to, you felt your heart swell a little more. He always found new ways to make you love him. Every day. In every moment.

You wondered if he did it on purpose, knowing how charming he was with you, but the Bucky you knew was quiet and reserved under layers of Kevlar and muscle, even in the moments he was flirty and teasing, he was insecure and nervous. You realized Nat was right. He’d only know if you told him. He had a self-destructive way of convincing himself he wasn’t worth much of anything, let alone someone’s love.

 _Your_ love.

“See you on the other side,” Sam called over his shoulder, bringing you out of your daze as he jogged down to the end of the ramp, the wings of his suit extending out to the sides with a quick _wisp._ Then, he was in the air.

Steve and Nat were next, racing down the platform after Sam and making a sharp left once they hit solid ground.

“Ready, doll?” Bucky asked, bumping your shoulder softly with his elbow. He was watching you with a lingering concern in his eye. He must have noticed you fall into a daze, not realizing you’d been thinking only of him.

You took a deep breath, staring out into the forest and to the faint outline of the Hydra facility beyond its cover.

“Always. Let’s do this.”

You followed Bucky down the ramp and pressed the red button on the edge of the jet as you jumped from the platform. The ramp retracted behind you and sealed the opening to the jet shut, the reflective camouflage of the panels masking the jet’s presence amongst the trees.

The cool air stung in your lungs as you sprinted after Bucky, weaving in and out of the trees, your eyes focused on the gun strapped to the center of his back as he ran, bouncing with every step. His hair swayed with the movement of his shoulders, soft waves flowing in the brush of the wind he carried.

By the time you had found a rhythm in your pace, you came to the edge of the tree line and Bucky pulled you to a stop with one arm darting out and catching at your waist. He pressed a finger over his mouth, nodding to the two men pacing outside the front entrance of the base. Their guns were swung on straps over their shoulders as they shivered in the cold, dragging on the end of the cigarettes pressed to their lips.

Then, as if out of nowhere, one fell to the ground. The other froze, head darting around in hopes to find the culprit responsible, though he never thought to look to the sky. Sam shot another round, sending the second man to collapse on top of his friend, slumping in an awkward position on the pavement.

Steve and Nat appeared at the edge of the tree line, sending up a quick salute to Sam as he dove down to the roof of the building.

“Good work, Sam,” Steve’s voice came through the coms. “Nat and I are heading in. Y/n, Buck… you’re good to head around back.”

“You got it, boss,” you replied as you pressed on the small button affixed to the com in your ear. You turned to Bucky, eyes darting over his features in search of any reason to turn back, but he was surprisingly calm, a determination in his eyes. He pressed out a smile for you, knowing you were checking in on him again.

With a quick nod, you sprinted out into the open. The soft rustle of your heavy weapons draped over your suit and Bucky’s metal arm clinking against the hand gun on his hip were the only sounds you could focus on outside of your labored breaths.

The base was longer than you expected. Thick brown walls, absent of windows, and Russian lettering painted on the outside of the building. You thought about asking Bucky what it said, but decided against it. 

Do you what you’re assigned. Nothing else. In and out. Follow Steve’s orders.

When you reached the back entrance, you turned the corner abruptly to find three agents you hadn’t expected to encounter gathered outside, speaking in hushed tones. You paused as they turned around, surprise evident on their faces for only a moment before Bucky came up behind you and silenced each one of them with the shot of a bullet before they even had a chance to reach for their guns. They all crumbled to the floor. 

“Thanks,” you panted, leaning against the wall to catch your breath.

“And you didn’t want me to come,” Bucky teased, sending you a wink.

“Guess I’m glad you did, then,” you retorted with a laugh as you set your hand on the knob of the door. You pressed a finger to the com and said to the team, “we’re going in.”

“Better late than never, right?” Nat’s voice chimed in, labored, and clearly in the middle of kicking someone’s ass. “Get a move on, lovebirds!”

You clenched your jaw, eyes falling to the floor as a heat rushed through your cheeks. You stole a quick glance at Bucky from the corner of your eye to find him awkwardly scratching the back of his head, looking just about anywhere other than your face.

“After you,” Bucky mumbled nervously and you chuckled under your breath at how sweet Bucky looked with a subtle blush in his cheeks amongst all those layers of Kevlar and weaponry. How he managed to be this impossible cross between the kindest, gentlest man you knew and the deadliest assassin in two generations was lost to you.

“Thanks, _lovebird_ ,” you replied cheekily and Bucky grinned at you, that smile that made your stomach weak, and he opened the door with a heavy swing. You spun around the corner into the dark hallway.

A quick shot to an agent’s shoulder as he walked by the door with a clipboard in his hand, wide eyes and trembling hands darting out to the side as he fell to the ground. He was wearing a lab coat. Bucky stepped in the hall behind you, closing the door, and he glanced down at the agent curled up on his side.

“Did you shoot a lab tech?” Bucky chuckled.

You shot him a teasing glare and held up your gun, releasing the magazine to display the blue laced bullets inside. “I _tranq’ed_ a lab tech. I’m not in the business of killing unarmed interns. Even if they work for Hydra.”

“Suit yourself,” Bucky shrugged, swerving around you to take the lead.

Tucking yourself behind broad shoulders as you followed him down the hallway, Bucky managed to take out most of the agents before you even had a chance to shoot. Even in his teasing, Bucky still used the tranquilizer bullets on the unarmed agents, only switching to his handgun when he came upon an agent with an AK-47 draped over their shoulder.

“You going to let me shoot anyone today or what?” you prodded as Bucky took down the twelfth agent you’d run into before you could side step your away around the angle of his body. It was how he intended, keeping you secure behind him, your human shield.

“You’re the expert hacker here, doll,” Bucky replied, half of his lips curving into a smile despite his efforts to suppress it. “I’m just the guy with the gun who’s supposed to get you to the control room”

“You forget I’m _also_ the guy with the gun,” you joked, waving your weapon in the air. Just over Bucky’s shoulder, you spotted a red sign above a door, white Russian lettering you couldn’t read, though you recognized the placement of the door from the blueprints Steve had you memorize on the plane. “That’s it.”

Bucky nodded, stepping around the corner to make sure the adjacent hallway was clear and he signaled for you to continue. Though you were supposed to wait for Bucky to clear the command center before you walked inside, you swerved around him and shouldered your way through the door before he had a chance to protest.

You’d been at this mission for ten minutes now and you’d only taken down one of their guys to Bucky’s fifteen. It had been a while since you raided a Hydra base and frankly, you were hoping it would be more of a challenge and you’d be able to take out a few of their agents in the process. After spending so many nights carefully talking Bucky through the horrors in his dreams caused by these men, the idea of shooting a few, tranquilizer bullets or not, was a satisfying one. Besides, you were a highly skilled agent and you didn’t need Bucky to all the work for you.

As you swung the door open and stepped into the command center, three men sprang to their feet. Wide eyes stared at you under the cover of military style caps as one of the men darted to the corner of the room towards a large red button you could only assume was to alert the rest of the base. You aimed for his knee and with a single shot he collapsed to the floor.

The next man, standing beside one of the computers reached for the gun nestled on his hip. He was on the ground before he was even able to set a finger on the handle.

You turned to face the final man who was presently pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he stalked towards you. Muttering Russian under his breath you imagined wasn’t particularly favorable and a physical build that could match even Bucky’s, you aimed your gun in his direction, not bothering with the tranqs for a guy who’d need at least four to bring him down.

A shot rang out from behind you as you winced at the sudden sound at it pieced your ears. A small red mark in the man’s forehead and he slumped down to the ground, blood trailing down his nose and onto the floor.

You turned to find Bucky standing behind you with a raised eyebrow. “Thought I was supposed to take lead, doll?”

“I was getting bored, Bucky. _Bored._ ”

He laughed at that, holstering his second weapon as he took a step further inside the room. Rifle still present in the strong of his grip as he surveyed the command center, checking under tables, behind closed doors, until he was satisfied you were alone.

“We’re all good,” Bucky called from the back of the room, surprisingly larger than you expected. You gave him a thumbs up and took a seat at one of the computers, nudging away the body of the Hydra agent who had tried to take a shot at you, so you could steal his chair.

“I’m gonna keep watch,” Bucky’s voice carried through the large room. He eyed your position surrounded by rows of computers, your back to the door nearest you. There were too many points of entry to the room, with three of them behind him. Where he stood was the safest positioning he’d be able to secure, though it didn’t make him feel less at ease having you exposed on the other end of the room. “You okay where you’re at?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Softy,” you chuckled, earning a scowl from Bucky. A few quick taps on the keyboard and the computer hummed back to life. You were met with a login screen and got to work.

It took almost seven minutes, two minutes longer than your personal record, for you to crack their system. Digging around through the files on the computer, you searched for the codename Barcelona files Steve had told you about. You didn’t have a clue what it contained, but it wasn’t your business to know. Being an agent of Shield, even an Avenger, didn’t grant you clearance for everything, after all.

“How we doing?” Bucky called, adjusting his stance. He was getting edgy.

“Working on it, Buck,” you replied as you located the file. You held a hand into the air, waving it for a second, and Bucky, always able to read your mind, reached into his pocket and tossed the flash drive across the room. With the throw of a professional quarterback, it carried the entire length of the command center and landed right into your outstretched hand.

“Damn, Buck, that was some throw. You sure you don’t want to join the Shield intermural football team?”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, “I’ve got enough head trauma for a lifetime.”

As you slid the flash drive into the USB port, an unusual clicking echoed. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head to the side as you set a hand on the base of the computer. Warm to the touch, vibrating under your palm, but there was a soft tapping sound that didn’t sit well with you.

You glanced up at the monitor and the screen began to glitch; flashes of green and blue intermixing with the files on display. The clicking sound increased in volume and you stepped back from the chair until you hit the table behind you.

“I think we’ve got trouble,” you called down to Bucky. He narrowed his eyes on you, already taking a step in your direction, when you noticed the red light flashing on the computer and the screen went black.

Then, a row of Russian letters appeared on the screen. White font, glitching until it stabilized and eventually transitioned into English.

_‘Hail Hydra.’_

Heart caught in your throat, you sprinted away from the computer towards Bucky, desperate to reach him in time though he remained too far from your grasp. 

His name had barely passed your lips before the bomb went off.

***

Bucky woke to an awful ringing in his ears and the faint stench of burnt hair. His right hand massaged the back of his head in an attempt to ease the pulsing that was making it increasingly difficult to open his eyes. When he did, he was met with orange flames lingering over the hordes of destroyed technology and a fog of smoke clouding the room. 

He grunted, rolling over on his side as a violent cough pushed through his lungs. Blood splattered into his hand.

As he moved to stand, a painful sting came from his stomach and Bucky looked down to find a dark red patch under the thick of his Kevlar vest, soaking through his suit. A stray piece of metal had lodged itself into his side. With a tight grip, he yanked it from his body and let out a grunt at the wash of cool relief, quickly replaced with a burning ache.

He’d find time to deal with that later.

A dizziness in his head, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He pressed a finger to his ear in search of the coms to alert Steve, but found it empty. He must have lost it in the explosion.

_Explosion._

A startling jump in his heart and Bucky was thrown from his daze.

“Y/n!” he shouted, voice cracking in the effort. He stumbled through the remains of the command center, tripping over fallen ceiling tiles and broken pieces of the walls. He nearly walked right into stray wiring hanging from the metal frame in the ceiling, still buzzing with electricity. “Y/n! Dammit, answer me!”

Still nothing.

Bucky froze his steps, trying to get a better hold of his racing heart before it got the better of him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to feel the ground beneath his feet. It was one of the only techniques his therapist taught him that helped to bring him back to the moment. He was on his third breath that he heard the soft sound of your groans.

“Y/n!” Bucky raced towards you and skidded to his knees as he caught sight of you trapped beneath a beam. You coughed as you tried to push the beam from your chest with no avail. Wasting no time, Bucky grabbed a tight grip of the pillar and lifted with every ounce of his strength. He let out a guttural cry, his every muscle aching in the effort, and you crawled out from underneath. The very second he saw you were out of harm’s way, he dropped the pillar back to the ground with a thunderous echo.

You were trying to catch your breath when Bucky’s hands gripped at either side of your face, desperate to get a glimpse of your eyes. You were covered in soot, grey partials sticking to your skin, your hair, your suit, the ends of your eyelashes. A dark red gash ran across your forehead and a sliver of your suit had been torn through at the chest, leaving behind a nasty cut in its wake. Bucky didn’t imagine he looked much better.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked frantically, his voice louder than intended just to speak over the deafening ringing. He brushed his hand over the trails of blood flowing from your ears. It coated his palms.

You didn’t respond, eyes staring blankly at him.

“Sweetheart, _please_! Are you okay?” Bucky asked again, this time shaking you just enough to get you to snap out of whatever trance you were in. It seemed to work as you nodded at him, swallowing thickly as your hands reached up to rest on his wrists. Bucky exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. “You have your coms?”

You felt for the mold in your ear and slumped your shoulders. “N-no, they’re gone.”

“Shit,” Bucky cursed. He glanced back at the door. “We have to get out of here. Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you nodded as he helped you to your feet.

Bucky watched as you stood on shaky legs, leaning against the table for support. He nearly offered to carry you when your eyes went wide, staring at something over his shoulder, and Bucky turned to find a Hydra agent in the doorway.

Bucky yanked the handgun from your hip, holding you tight to his chest to shield you, and shot a single bullet at the man’s head. He collapsed as his head jutted back in the impact, blood spewing onto the door.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, grabbing a tight hold of your hand and leading you to the exit. “Let’s go!”

Bucky shoved you ahead of him, harsher than he meant to, but there’d be time to make up for it once he got you safe on the jet. With no way to contact Steve or the team, he went into full survival mode. His only mission was to keep you alive. Everything else be damned.

He took out seven more agents before he got you to the end of the first hallway. You were too disoriented to take aim for yourself, barely able to run in a straight line as you kept you hand on the wall for support with every step.

You almost collapsed as you turned the next corner, losing grip on the wall, and Bucky darted forward, grabbing onto the sides of your face as you struggled to find your breath. There was too much smoke in your lungs. Your eyes were falling heavy.

“ _Y/n!_ Y/n, come on sweetheart, I need you to stay with me,” Bucky begged frantically, shaking you slightly until your eyes darted open again. You smiled at him like you weren’t about to lose consciousness and Bucky wasn’t about to completely lose his mind.

“M’here,” you mumbled, voiced slurred and harsh.

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath, pushing forward to kiss at your hairline because his adrenaline was too high and he was so fucking terrified whenever you had so much as a scrape on you, let alone the brunt of full-blown explosion. 

You sighed against him, hand circling around his wrist as he held you still and for a moment, he was alone with you, the Hydra facility wasn’t on fire and he wasn’t losing blood at an alarming rate from the open wound on his stomach.

Two agents turned down into your hall and the spell was broken in an instant. Bucky pushed you forward, yelling at you to run as he fired two rounds into the men before they had a chance to shoot. The men fell to the ground and by the time Bucky turned back to follow you, you had gone too far ahead of him, only a few yards but it was a lifetime away. Sprinting to catch up, fire burning in his lungs, Bucky called out your name.

Then as you paused to wait for him, a wall slammed down in Bucky’s path; gusts of wind and a thunderous _boom!_ in its wake. He collided against it in the force of his momentum, nearly tossed to the ground from the impact.

“What the hell…” Bucky panted, his hand pressing against the clear barrier, though it felt like glass, almost two feet thick. You ran back towards him, stopping on the other side of the wall. Wide, fearful eyes, and your lips were moving, though Bucky couldn’t make out what you were saying.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, slamming his fist against the wall, only to be met with immense pain. You started rushing to the walls on either side, feeling for a lever you wouldn’t find. Bucky knocked on the glass wall to get your attention, urging you to step back, and only when you were clear, Bucky fired four full magazines into the wall and it barely made a crack.

Bucky felt a panic coursing through him as his heartrate skyrocketed. There wasn’t time for this. He glanced back at the door that would lead you to the quinjet before he met your eyes again, pleading. You must have followed his gaze because you were shaking your head rapidly, the word ‘ _no’_ present on your lips.

“Y/n, please! Go!” Bucky shouted, though he knew you wouldn’t be able to hear him. Tears welled in your eyes and he swore he saw you mouth _‘I’m not leaving you here!’_

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ you! Get out of here!” Bucky urged but you planted your feet. God, why did you have to be so stubborn?

But then something caught your attention, a noise Bucky couldn’t hear, because you turned around. From the corner of the hallway emerged at least ten Hydra agents, all equipped with automatic assault rifles.

A fear unlike anything Bucky had ever experienced ripped through his chest and he started to slam his metal fist against the wall in a last ditched effort to break through. The men advanced on you, shouting something Bucky couldn’t hear, and he was sure the entirety of his left arm was cracked up to the bicep with every swing.

He couldn’t feel pain in his left arm the way he could in his flesh, but it registered; the same way he could feel your hands as you played with the metal plates absentmindedly on the couch on movie nights or when you’d run your fingers along his arm in sweeping motions to calm him when he was on edge. Bucky slammed his fists into the wall again and again. It ached and burned in a way he couldn’t quite explain and he was sure his shoulder was on fire.

The men were gaining on you and you had nowhere to go. Bucky had yet to even made a dent in the wall and you spun around to face him, the startling realization in your eyes that made Bucky’s stomach plummet. He shook his head at you, knowing exactly what was coming next when the tears began to well in your eyes.

“ _No!_ ” Bucky shouted, punching at the wall again. You flinched.

You set your hands on the wall and it was so clear that Bucky could see the traces of the lines in your palms through the cracks of soot on your skin. It was a lifeline, extending to him, as if you could touch him.

The world stopped spinning for one impossibly brief moment as he lifted his hand to meet yours, pressed against the glass, though it was trembling in the effort and you pushed out a smile through your tears. A stolen moment before the worst. A cruel moment that reminded him how powerless he really was.

A tear streaked down your cheek, washing the grey layer in its wake and your lips formed words that made Bucky freeze in his tracks.

_“I love you._

_I’m sorry. I love you.”_

Bucky’s lips parted, his brain screaming at him, but he couldn’t move. Suddenly, one of the agents was over your shoulder as he grabbed a forceful hold of your right wrist and twisted it behind your back until you let out a cry. Bucky lost sight of your eyes, lost sight of his lifeline. The man kicked you to your knees and you whimpered in the pain of it.

“Get your fucking hands off of her! I’ll kill you, you hear me?! _I’ll kill you!_ ” Bucky bellowed, ramming his fist against the wall, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Nothing he did would. He was helpless but to watch.

The agent had the nerve to smirk, a sickening grin curving up on the thin of his lips and exposing yellow teeth beneath. He said something back to his comrades and he hulled you up your feet, unbothered by the limp in your right leg as he shoved you back to one of the other agents. As they cuffed you, you stole a quick glance back at Bucky and he swore time stopped in that moment.

The soft hue of your eyes, his source of comfort, his reprieve, now laced with a panic and fear he’d come to find in his nightmares. His hands were shaking, trembling violently, as he threw all of his strength into each punch to the wall. A crack ripped up the clear barrier of the wall but it wasn’t enough.

His name was on your lips as they dragged you away, kicking and screaming.

“Y/n!” Bucky screamed, tears well down the sides of his cheeks. “I’ll find you! _I’ll find you!”_

And then, you were gone. Disappeared from view around the sharp corner and Bucky couldn’t breathe. Another hit to the wall, his energy completely drained and it barely made an impact before he collapsed, the dark red ooze of blood in his stomach getting the better of him.

Teetering on the edge of consciousness, Bucky pressed his forehead to the clear barrier, focusing on the turn of the hallway where he had seen you last.

“I’ll find you…”

Then, darkness. 


	3. Three

Bucky didn’t move for nearly an hour before Steve and Natasha found him curled up against that wall. Forehead pressed the thick glass barrier that had kept you from him, stare glazed over, unblinking. His body so numb he could hardly move.

He didn’t register Steve rush at him, skidding on his knees to press his fingers painfully to Bucky’s pulse point or the violent shake of his shoulders as his friend begged him to say something, to tell him what happened, to _answer him goddamnit_ because the way he sat so unmoving, unresponsive, the red seep of blood upon the open wound at his stomach, Steve thought for a moment he might be dead.

He might as well have been.

Natasha paced back and forth, eyes darting down the long hallway and spotting the dirt layered handprints on the other side of the wall, the skid marks on the tile left behind by your boots.

“Steve,” she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, lips pressed tight together to hold in the cry etching through her spine as she nodded towards the end of the hall. 

Steve narrowed his eyes, catching onto the fragments you’d left behind and slumped over in realization.

“Oh God.”

***

Bucky sat at the end of a long conference table back the compound less than eight hours later and he could barely get his thoughts to form a straight line. Every image in his brain replayed the sharp realization in your eyes as you watched him so desperately try to reach you with no avail, the acceptance of what was about to happen as you placed your hands on the glass to find his eyes one last time; the complete panic that swept over you when they dragged you away, your heels digging into the concrete, arms thrashing, as you tried to resist your capture.

And still, above the worst of it, above the fear on your face seared into his memory and the unforgiving grip of the agent’s hands on your body, Bucky couldn’t let go of the last thing you had said to him. While the cadence of your voice was lost behind the barrier of the wall, Bucky couldn’t shake it from his mind, wondering what it would have sounded like aloud. He would have given everything to hear it, just once.

_I love you._

_I’m sorry. I love you._

He had so many questions; so much he needed to know. Why were you only telling him now that you were being taken away? How long had you known? When did you first realize?

Was it in that moment as you caught his eye through the other side of the glass barrier, tears streaming down your face as the Hydra agents approached from behind you? Was it before that? Back before he found the courage to talk to you on your silent runs in the morning? Was it somewhere in between? 

Was it the first time you dragged him to Brooklyn or the day you spent with him curled up at the foot of your bed, listening to music and showing him the new books you’d bought him?

Was it after the first time you had stayed the night in his room after a particularly grueling mission, curled up against his left side, completely unbothered, if not _relieved,_ by the cool metal on his shoulder? Because that was when he knew.

Had it been years of silent glances and the soft curve of lips, unspoken conversations and cautious touches, loving one another from a distance?

Wasted years you could have been his.

He could have been _yours._

“What do you think, Buck?”

Bucky blinked a few times, focusing his vision back on Steve as he raised an eyebrow, concerned. He stood at the far end of the room, watching Bucky under a worried stare as he leaned onto the table. Behind him, filling the monitors, were images of different Hydra bases, blue prints, schematics, and a few profiles of the Hydra agents who were present at the base where you were taken.

Bucky’s gaze caught on the monitor to the right of Steve’s shoulder, your official SHIELD identification picture set around several layers of text detailing demographic factors for the rows of agents standing behind the table who didn’t know you like the team did. Bullet points of your height, the color of your eyes, the prominent scar above your eyebrow, your various skillset.

It all felt too clinical, too impersonal, dispassionate almost for these agents to read about you like you were a target, or a mark, or anything other than the most important person in his life.

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from your image displayed upon the screen. Your hair was up, wisps falling down to frame your face and the suit you wore was an older model, one you wore before Tony got a hold of it, though you had always said it was your favorite. It was subtle, humbling, and reminded you of the years of training it took you to get to this point. You smiled in the picture, the slight curve of your lips and a dimple in your cheeks and –

“Buck?” Steve called again, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony.

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled, gaze flickering over to the agents Steve was attempting to bring up to speed.

Not even a full day had passed since you’d been taken and Steve was organizing rescues ops to every known Hydra base he could find. With the fresh wound in Bucky’s side only haphazardly stapled together by Natasha on the quinjet and a seemingly permanent ringing in his left ear, he’d been benched.

He had fought Steve on that. Begged, screamed and threw punches until the dizziness in his head started to pull his vision black. He was in no shape to raid Hydra facilities, physically or mentally. He was too vulnerable, too willing to do whatever it took to bring you home. Steve knew him better than almost anyone and he knew that given the chance, Bucky would walk openly back into Hydra’s arms if it meant securing your safety. It was too great of a risk and SHIELD couldn’t allow Hydra to get ahold of the winter soldier again.

It was for that reason Steve wouldn’t let him get within a hundred feet of a jet.

Bucky cleared his throat. “What was the question?”

Steve exhaled, incredibly patient through the sad look on his face. “You know these bases better than anyone. Just checking to see if we missed anything in their defense procedures.”

Bucky nodded, taking in a deep breath as he studied the monitors. They seemed to cover everything from the security monitors to the defense protocols of the agents to the boobytraps installed in some of the older buildings.

“I think you’re good,” Bucky confirmed. 

He tried his best to ignore the stares of the agents gathered around the table; eyes full of pity, some with apathy, others with that prominent look of disgust they didn’t bother to hide. Not everyone was as willing as you had been to accept him as a member of this team. He was a constant source of gossip amongst the agents, even three years later, and though his team members did their best to put a stop to it, it never seemed to let up.

Everywhere he went, someone would be watching him, waiting for him to slip up or reveal his ‘true nature,’ to turn on the people who took him in because he was nothing more than what Hydra trained him to be.

Bucky looked to the empty seat on his right. Your seat. His hands clenched so hard into fists he drew blood in the palm of his right hand. He couldn’t stand to be in this room any longer.

As Steve and Tony turned to address the teams, Bucky abruptly pushed his chair out from the table and shoved his way out of the room, ignoring Steve’s cautious glance and the murmurs that followed him as he stepped out into the hallway.

The door of the conference room slammed shut behind him and a relief circulated through his chest with a steady inhale of breath. It was the first time he was alone since the jet landed back on the base.

Moving to wipe a line of sweat from his brow, Bucky caught a glimpse of red on his hands. Staining the cracks in his knuckles and dried in the lines of his flesh palm. Blood. _Your blood._

His hands began to shake, tremors so violent that he couldn’t begin to control them even as he curled his hands to fists by his side. Flash of grey fog and the heat of flames surrounded him, trapped in the memory, as he had cupped the sides of your face, blood trailing from your ears and onto his palms. The look on your face, the ache in your voice flooded back to him at once and he leaned against the wall for support.

Tears blurred his vision and he nearly collapsed under weak knees when suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to whip around defensively, fists held high and ready to strike.

Sam raised his arms, taking a step back. “Hey man, I’m just checking in.”

Bucky let out a sharp breath, lowering his hands with a careful nod. His heart was racing; the dangerous combination of a half-stitched wound on his stomach, the adrenaline coursing in his veins, and the emotional distress of losing you to the very people who had ripped him apart, who were featured so heavily in his nightmares, was starting to break him.

“Look, why don’t you get down to the med bay?” Sam offered, gesturing to the soot and blood coating Bucky’s skin. “I’m sure Helen will want to properly stitch up your stab wound. Though Nat did a pretty decent job with the stapler, even if you did try to toss her off of you more than once.” 

Sam chuckled lightly, hoping to draw some kind of reaction but when he was met with the solemn stare etched on Bucky’s features, he added, “Steve and Tony are heading out with their teams soon. Nat, Rhodey, and Lang are heading up units, too. They’ll find her, Barnes. No stone unturned, you got it?”

Bucky swallowed. It burned.

“There’s nothing you can do but wait,” Sam sighed and the ache in his voice reminded Bucky of his own. Worried. Afraid. Though he tried to shove it aside. It was what they did best. “Y/n will be home soon and she’s going to need you to have a hold of yourself, okay? No pity parties. Get that mess on your stomach taken care of and get a shower. Don’t wanna be looking like a fool when she comes back, right?”

Sam pressed out a grin, though it was forced, as he shoved Bucky lightly in the shoulder. Despite their history, Bucky knew that Sam was a decent guy, someone who would have his back without a second thought even with their constant bickering. He was the only person who dared to stomp on every eggshell around him since you’d been taken. Sam provided him with a sense of normalcy he so desperately craved.

So, as Sam walked down the hall, leaving Bucky to his own self-destructive devices, he tried to convince himself that Sam was right, that in a few short hours he’d meet you in the hanger as you sprinted off the ramp of the quinjet, unharmed, beaming so wide it hurt, and you’d crash into his arms. He could practically feel the curve of your back, the thin layer of your favorite t-shirt, soft waves of your hair, all under his fingertips. He could smell the sweet fragrance of your shampoo and the warmth of your body pressed against his.

He’d return the words you had spoken to him. He’d tell you that you were the reason he found himself again after decades of being trapped within his own mind and tell you he’d give his life just to see you smile again. He’d tell you that he loved you and he couldn’t stand the idea of being without you for even a second longer and maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss you like he’d been imagining for years.

Cracked lips, still gentle and soft against his own, and he’d rake his fingers through your hair not caring about the blood caked through the roots, because he just needed to be closer to you and his mouth on yours just wouldn’t be enough. He’d cry and hold onto you like an extension of himself and he wouldn’t let go for hours.

Maybe you’d hold him back and maybe you’d kiss his cheek and maybe you’d tell him that it wasn’t his fault because— _God–_ he needed to hear it so badly and there wasn’t a single person but you he would believe it from. 

But Bucky Barnes was not a hopeful man.

He had learned over the years that this world was not a kind one and that dreams were useless fantasies meant to hold his sanity until the next blow came and he’d find himself searching again for reasons to hang on, each time getting harder and harder until he had nothing left.

He knew Hydra and he knew what they were capable of.

He knew what they would do to you. As an Avenger and as someone so clearly connected to their favorite asset. They’d destroy you.

Bucky could barely feel the agonizing ache in his chest.

***

Five nights since you were taken and still no word. Sam had taken over for Steve’s team somewhere in Russia, searching the eighth base on their list. Tony and Nat’s teams grouped up in Austria, while Scott’s team was following a far-off lead in Brazil.

Bucky tried to keep himself away from the communications center where he’d find the voices of his friends chiming in through the radio, each reporting that they had found nothing and another base was crossed off the list. He’d only find pain there and he knew it.

But Bucky Barnes was a masochist and he put himself in that room anyway, sitting at the far corner, away from the prying eyes of the analysts and listened to the chatter of Sam’s voice as it started to become more and more defeated with every abandoned base they encountered.

Even when Tony and Nat’s teams were able to infiltrate a fully operational base and burn it to the ground, Bucky couldn’t even find it in himself to feel even an ounce of satisfaction. He couldn’t focus on anything beyond the fact that they were running out of known Hydra facilities on their list and there was yet to even be a sign that you were even still alive.

He left around three in the morning when the chatter began to die down and the only sound filling the room was the constant typing. He retreated back to his room, laid on the top of the computer and began to count the cracks in the tiles on the ceiling.

His bed was too cold, too hard under the aching swell of his muscles without you.

You had spoiled him, allowed him to get used to the warmth of your body so innocently next to his under the ruse of fighting nightmares together. Something about the feel of your hand curling into his when you noticed his body start to tremor in his sleep or the soft murmur if your voice lulling him back to fonder memories, and Bucky hadn’t woken screaming in months.

But the unspoken arrangement wasn’t one sided. Sometimes, there’d be nights you’d come back from a mission in tears from the horrors you’d seen; graphic, violent scenes Bucky hadn’t been able to protect you from, and he’d hold you so tight to his chest his arm would grow numb. Soft, careful kisses to the crown of your head, brushing over your hair until your breathing came back to pace and he finally eased you to sleep.

It was his only solace. Even in his worst days, he knew he could always knock on your door, no questions, and you’d wrap yourself around him until he forgot why he sought you out in the first place.

Now, he couldn’t sleep without you, couldn’t fathom facing the monsters in his dreams without you next to him, especially now that those same monsters had you within their grasp. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the memory of your face as tears streamed down your cheeks, hands pressed to the glass barrier between you, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Even with his lids falling heavy, he jerked himself awake before the darkness could pull him under. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours since you’d been taken.

Bucky resumed counting the cracks in the ceiling, falling somewhere in the eight-hundred range, when his head lulled to the side, lids slipping shut before he could find the energy to snap himself back to conscious.

_Bucky pushed through double doors to an empty sea of darkness. In the distance, illuminated under a spotlight was the sparring ring from the gym sitting amongst a black abyss. As Bucky walked closer, a warmth filled his chest to find you standing at the center of the ring, tapping your closed fists wrapped in boxing tape, as you waited for him._

_A smile beamed on your lips as he approached and you jumped a few times to get your blood circulating. Bucky hulled himself up into the ring and slipped under the ropes._

_“You ready?” you asked, voice echoing airily through the emptiness around you as you stretched your arm over your chest. Bucky glanced down to his pajamas to find he was now wearing his workout gear, his hands already tapped._

_“Only if you are, sweetheart,” he teased and a heat reddened on your face._

_He knew those names made you flustered, which was exactly why he did it. There was nothing he found more endearing than a spy with a blush in her cheeks._

_He supposed some might find it condescending, the little pet names, but not you, and he supposed it was perhaps because he sincerely meant them that they affected you so much. It was never to demean you or make you feel small or powerless. It was because he adored you and couldn’t find the words to actually tell you so it came out in terms of endearment he could easily brush off if someone started asking too many questions._

_You laughed, the sound sending a nervous kind of excitement in his stomach, as you rushed him. Sparring with you was always his favorite match; even when you were winning, even when he was. Any excuse to be close to you was one he was eagerly willing to take._

_His back slammed to the ground as you hovered over him and maybe he let you do that, but you didn’t seem to mind. Your full body weight on his and your hair fell down to cage his face. He reached up and tucked a strand behind your ear, chest panting from the exertion of the fight, heavy breaths warming his face._

_It was so familiar, this moment, but he pushed the feeling aside as his gaze flickered down at your lips so swiftly, he thought you might not notice. When he was met with the soft hue of your iris again, he knew that you had. Your hand traced up his chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake and you lowered your lips to his, so slowly, so impossibly delicate, that Bucky’s heart was pounding so fast he questioned if he would survive it. A graze of your lips, not enough to even feel it, and–_

_The scene changed._

_You disappeared from above him and Bucky was surrounded by the ruins of a Hydra base, thick grey smoke filling the room as flames cast up in angry orange waves around him. Bucky scrambled to his feet, stumbling from the dizziness in his head._

_“Y/n!” he shouted, wincing at the echo his voice produced. “Y/n! Dammit, answer me!”_

_Then, he spotted you trapped under a beam and rushed to you. By the time he pulled it from your body and you scrambled out from underneath, the flames had consumed the room. Bucky went to grab you to his chest but you were gone. Panic coursing through him and he spun around in search of you, only to be met with the burn of the fire._

_He closed his eyes and then the heat was gone._

_He opened his eyes to find you standing on the other side of the clear barrier, hand pressed to the glass, a blank expression on your face. Bucky slammed his fist to the wall, screaming out in agony as pain radiated up his arm, pain he hadn’t experienced on his left side since the fall, and he nearly collapsed to the ground._

_You didn’t so much as flinch as Bucky desperately clawed at the wall, chest panting with the ache of the adrenaline in his veins._

_“Y/n!” he shouted your name like a desperate plea. Tears blurred at his vision as the crowd of Hydra agents appeared at the end of the hallway behind you. Your expression remained entirely blank, if not dismissive, and Bucky’s stomach was twisting into knots._

_“Why didn’t you stop this?” your voice carried through the wall, low and detached and Bucky nearly doubled over._

_A Hydra agent suddenly appeared behind you, as if from thin air, and took your hand from the glass twisting it behind your back, though you remained emotionless._

_“You could have saved me. This is your fault,” you accused and Bucky nodded his head vigorously._

_“I know, I know,” he cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, doll.”_

_He collapsed to his knees, sobs raking through his body enough to limit his intake of breath as they dragged you away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes when he was met with deafening silence._

_Then, a sudden clicking noise and he was somewhere else. He removed his hands, taking in his surroundings, and a sharp breath hitched in his lungs. He’d seen this place before, been here in his nightmares too many times to count._

_The chair that took his memories from him, his free will, his dignity, sat at the center of the room. Various men and women in lab coats, some in military uniforms carrying large weapons, carried about their business, completely obvious to Bucky’s presence._

_A commotion sounded to his left and he turned to find two men dragging you into the room. You were screaming, crying, fighting with every ounce of strength you had left. Blood dripped down the side of your face, the left part of your hair coated in dark red, and your leg was clearly broken._

_“Get away from her!” Bucky bellowed, moving to sprint towards you when a pull tugged on his wrists. He looked down to find them cuffed together, a chain extending from the wall that hadn’t been there before. You locked eyes with him and Bucky swore his stomach had plummeted to the far center of the Earth._

_“Take her to the chair,” one of the men ordered, “wipe her, and start over. It’s time we find a new fist of Hydra.”_

_“No!” Bucky roared, yanking hard enough on the chains to dig open wounds in his wrist. You were screaming for him, begging for him to save you, to stop this, but he couldn’t move. He was crying again, so incredibly helpless but to watch, and he couldn’t find his breath._

_Bucky’s vision started to blur, finding it impossible to breathe through the thin straw in his lungs and he fell to the ground. They strapped you to the chair and time seemed to fall still._

_Through the numbing in his body, the lightheadedness, and the quick, desperate breaths, Bucky caught sight of your eyes as you bored into his. A frown passed your lips, features hardening in a way he had never once seen on your face._

_“You did this to me,” you spat as they pressed the buttons to turn the machine on. Electric sparks radiated from the panels. “You did this, Bucky! YOU DID THIS!”_

_They shoved the mouthguard to your teeth and you clamped down, glaring at him enough to stab holes straight into his heart, as the panels pressed to the sides of your face, where his hands should be, where he would brush the tears from your eyes and let his thumb so carefully run over your cheekbone, and electricity pulsed through them._

_You let out a scream Bucky could only find in his nightmares and he closed his eyes._

“Bucky!”

Bucky curled up onto his side, shaking his head, too afraid to see you on the chair again, to see you strapped to the instrument that destroyed him from the inside out. His face was wet with tears, his breaths too shallow.

“Bucky! Wake up!”

Heavy hands gripped at his biceps, yanking him up and Bucky’s eyes darted open to find Steve staring at him with panic in his features. Bucky’s lips had grown numb, his brain feeling fuzzy, as he struggled to find his breath.

“I need you to breathe, Buck, come on now,” Steve urged, running his hands along Bucky’s arms. It had been nearly three years since he was the one to help Bucky through these nights, he had almost forgotten how real these dreams could feel.

Bucky nodded, hands curling into the fabric of the sheets to ground himself. He focused on the steady rise and fall of Steve’s breaths until his heart rate started to slow and his breaths came in at an even pace. He exhaled, the numbness in his face still present and his head feeling a bit dizzy, but he knew where he was, knew it had been a nightmare that brought Steve barreling into his room. It was why he had tried so hard to stay awake.

“Sorry,” Bucky muttered under his breath, shifting away from Steve on the bed. He looked away, an embarrassed heat in his face.

“No, no, please don’t apologize, Buck,” Steve replied sincerely. “I know that this is hard for you. It’s… it’s hard for all of us… not knowing.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, desperately willing himself not to cry in front of Steve.

“But we’re not stopping until we bring her home,” Steve continued, offering Bucky a reassuring smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He paused, letting out a deep breath. “I… I know what she means to you, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t reply, couldn’t find the strength to talk about you without completely losing it. He felt so weak, so small, so pathetic as his entire world seemed to collapse without you.

How was it that he banked his entire recovery on a single person, that you had carried his burdens and lifted the pain from his shoulders without him even realizing it? How was it that he was crumbling and falling to pieces? How was he supposed to survive without you?

He never wanted to find out. Though, now, he might not have a choice.

***

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee that had long grown cold, settled in the seat he had taken all those months when you’d meet him before the sun rose, before he even so much as spoke a word to you.

It was comforting, in some way. Like he could hold onto a piece of you in this memory, a good memory, of your sweet smile as you stole quick glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking as you stretched next to the refrigerator.

He glanced over his shoulder to the spot he had seen you in so many times, folding your leg behind you as you leaned against the wall, sending him a reassuring smile, one that never asked him to step further out of his comfort zone than he was ready for but one that reminded him he was safe here, that he was home and you were intent on making him feel as such.

He was only now realizing that this compound was never home to him.

You were.

It had been nine days since he last saw you in that Hydra base and Bucky was sure his body had grown completely numb. He was barred from joining the rescue ops until his therapist cleared him for duty, which he didn’t expect to happen anytime soon, so he spent most of his time behind a punching bag or running for hours on end until his legs had grown weak with use. He’d work himself to the point of exhaustion just to catch an hour of dreamless sleep because if he left himself alone with his thoughts long enough, they’d swarm in masses of guilt and images of that fear in your eyes, and he’d never survive that on his own.

He sighed, clenching his jaw, and he turned back to face the blank wall he had been staring at when the flash of the television caught his eye.

A picture of you illuminated the screen, one from a mission downtown a year back as you escorted pedestrians away from the warzone happening on Broadway. You had a small child in your hands as you handed him to a crying woman. A blonde woman in a dark blue blazer sat behind a desk to the right of the image, lips moving though the TV was muted.

The image to the anchor’s left flashed to your official SHIELD headshot, the one that had been on the monitors in the debriefing room the day after you were taken. Having made his way into the living room almost in a trance, Bucky grabbed the remote and turned on the volume.

“— _just over a week since Agent Y/L/n was taken prisoner by known Hydra affiliates during a classified mission in an undisclosed location_ ,” the woman continued, voice stern as she stared directly into the camera, “ _There is still no word on her whereabouts, however we have learned that the Avengers at the command of Captain Rogers, continue to lead cavalries in search of the missing agent.”_

The screen changed to a shaky video of Steve and a dozen agents storming a warehouse, the muffled sound of gunfire reigning in the background. The chyron at the bottom indicated they were in Slovakia.

Then, a new video as the screen flashed to Stark as he flew above the tree lines with several small jets behind him. The anchor appeared on screen again. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

_“Targeting locations seemingly at random, it appears that the Avengers are no closer to locating Agent Y/L/n than they were the day she was abducted. With no word from Hydra, no indication of ransom demands, and no proof of life, unfortunately, we can only begin to assume—”_

The screen suddenly turned black, a drop in his heart, and Bucky looked down at the remote, narrowing his eyes to find it sitting on the edge of his couch, away from his grasp.

“They don’t know shit,” Sam shot from behind him. He had his arms folded over his chest and a scowl upon his lips. A second remote sat in his left hand. “No news doesn’t mean bad news. They’re just looking to sensationalize this.”

Bucky shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the shaking in his hand. “It’s been too long, Sam, and- and _she’s right!_ Why hasn’t Hydra made any demands for Y/n? You don’t find that strange at all? What was the point of taking her if they didn’t want something from us? She’s probably already de–”

“Stop it!” Sam snapped, shoving Bucky hard in this chest. “You don’t get to give up hope! It’s been _nine days_ , Barnes! Don’t you dare do that to her. Don’t you fucking dare because we all know for a fact Y/n would never give up on you like this!”

“I didn’t—I, I haven’t—” Bucky fumbled over his words, something he was entirely unused to.

“Yes, _you have!_ ” Sam retorted, shoving Bucky again in the arm. “ _I know_ that going out looking for her yourself isn’t an option right now and _I know_ how bad you wish it was. But you’re not helpless, Barnes, and she’s _not dead!_ Stop acting like it!”

Sam grunted, folding his arms over his chest. He waited, watching Bucky for a reaction and ready to put him back in place if needed. Cautious eyes trailed over the apprehensive clench of Bucky’s jaw as he nodded to himself.

With a steady exhale, Bucky chewed on his lip, meeting Sam’s eye. “Thank you.”

A flash of surprise cut through Sam’s features.

“You’re right. I’m no good to Y/n like this,” Bucky admitted much to Sam’s shock. He carded his fingers through his hair, tugging it away from his face. He had spent too long allowing himself to wallow in a sea of self-pity and guilt and blame that you never would have stood for. It cost him precious days he could have spent out looking for you.

With a newfound determination and a sense of purpose he had so desperately needed in your absence, Bucky said, “I need to get training again so I can be back in the field. I need to get my mind right and convince the doc to give me the all clear and I’m going to get the hell out of this compound and find Y/n myself.”

A slow smirk pulled on Sam’s lips. It was what he had been waiting for.

“You coming or what?” Bucky asked, chugging down the rest of his cold coffee and set it on the counter. He was already halfway across the room, heading to the gym, before Sam jogged to catch up with him.

***

Bucky spent every day in the gym with Sam for nearly a week. Sparring, running, lifting weights, sparring again. With Sam decked in his suit, he even agreed to let Bucky use his full strength just to make sure he was field ready before he made the round to the med bay to get the clearance from Dr. Cho.

Even his therapist was beginning to come around. With Bucky attending on a daily basis and putting more work into his mental health than he did in the three years he had been living at the compound combined, he was confident he’d get the ticket he needed to be back in the field by next week. The fact that the nightmares had started to subside, even without you next to him, didn’t slip his notice either.

It was officially two weeks since you were taken and while the endless coverage on the news wouldn’t let him forget it, Bucky kept holed himself up in the gym with Sam. They’d been at it for nearly three hours in the ring and Bucky was dripping in sweat. Sam was a more adversarial opponent than he gave him credit for, though he would never admit it aloud.

“Stop relying on your left arm!” Sam quipped as he ducked under Bucky’s shoulder and jabbed him with an electrical current at the base of his shoulder.

Bucky grunted, stumbling away as he gripped onto the dead weight in his left side, metal falling heavy and useless by his side. He glared at Sam enough to stare daggers through his head.

“I thought we said no weapons,” Bucky grumbled, trying to shake his arm back to life.

“Yeah, well Hydra is going to come at you with everything they got and knowing you, you’ll fuck something up and end up weaponless, so you can thank me later,” Sam shot back, that irritating smirk upon his lips that drove Bucky absolutely insane.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Maybe, but I’m the only one working to get your sorry ass back to field duty, so deal with it,” Sam retorted and Bucky felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Sam was right. He was the only one who stayed behind to make sure Bucky didn’t do anything stupid and with his complete disregard for Bucky’s feelings, Sam was the one person who was able to kick him out of his all-consuming self-pity.

Bucky made a mental note to explicitly _not_ make any jabs at Sam for at least a month once they brought you home.

Bucky shook out his right shoulder, his left arm still entirely useless as Sam circled around him in the ring, getting ready to pounce again. Bucky was nearly ready to strike, when Sam stood up straight, eyes narrowing at something far over Bucky’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, turning cautiously to follow Sam’s gaze, when suddenly Sam was sprinting off the edge of the ring, hurdling over the ropes to the far corner of the gym.

Confused by Sam’s abrupt change in behavior, Bucky raced after him to find Sam desperately scrambling for the remote to the TV that hung on the wall above the cardio equipment. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, almost afraid to look, Bucky slowly glanced up at the TV to find the same blonde woman reporting from behind a desk he had seen a few days ago, a solemn look in her eyes, as an image of you was pictured to her left.

“Stupid freaking remote, come on,” Sam grumbled under his breath as he struggled to unmute the TV.

Bucky’s eyes were glued to the woman’s lips, trying to make out what she was saying because the look on her face was setting an ache in Bucky’s stomach.

Then, Sam exhaled in relief and the woman’s voice began to echo through the empty gym.

“ _– received just moments ago in the mailroom of our television studio, just several floors below where we are recording this now,”_ the woman continued, “ _It remains unclear who dropped this package off as our security footage appears to be malfunctioning but rest assured authorizes have been notified. If you are just joining us, we have received what appears to be video footage of the MIA Avenger, Agent Y/n Y/L/n.”_

Bucky’s breath hitched in his lungs and Sam set a hand on his shoulder. Frozen.

“ _Please be warned that the video we are about to show may be difficult to watch,”_ the woman let out a heavy sigh as she looked to someone off screen. She nodded, a slight wave of her hand, and the screen went blank.

Bucky flinched, thinking for a moment that the feed had cut out, when suddenly, the screen faded into the view of a dark room, a single folding chair illuminated under a free hanging light bulb. The scuffling of feet echoed through the video and Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. Then, he nearly stopped breathing as you appeared on the screen, shoved into the chair by two men with masks obstructing their faces.

“Fucking hell.” Sam exhaled a harsh breath beside him as he began to pace and back forth. 

Bucky could do nothing but watch. He was paralyzed. The relief of seeing you alive overshadowed by the state of your present injuries, leaving a sharp pang in Bucky’s chest.

A deep gash ran along your cheekbone, dried blood trailing down your face, over the swollen purple bruising. It looked infected, like it had been sustained days prior without any medical treatment and your skin was flushed and covered in sweat. Dark circles sat under reddened eyes, bruising on your nose from where it had been broken, and blood caked into the split of your bottom lip. Your collarbones were more prominent than they should be and you looked weak, frail, like they hadn’t been feeding you and Bucky could only suspect as much.

Your eyes glued onto the camera, like you could see straight through it right into Bucky’s soul, and he wondered if maybe you could. You flickered your gaze for only a second off screen and a fist came barreling out of nowhere and slammed against the side of your face.

Bucky jumped, hands clenching at his side, not even realizing he had regained feeling in his left arm. You turned and spat a thick glob of blood to your left, shooting a glare at whoever hit you.

You turned your focus back to the camera. Slowly, you parted your lips.

“ _My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n,_ ” you spoke, your voice raspy and broken from either the lack of use or screaming and Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to wonder which. “ _I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and_ _I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia._ ”

A newspaper was thrown in front of the camera, proving today’s date. It fell away and you swallowed thickly, though you winced at the effort. Your eyes glanced down at something under the camera and Bucky realized you were reading from prompts.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam cursed, running his hands down his mouth but Bucky couldn’t focus on anything beside the trembling in your lip as you read the next cue card before you said it aloud.

You shook your head, clenching your jaw. “ _I’m not reading that_ ,” you spat to someone off screen, only to be met without a second hit to your face and Bucky felt his knees lock.

Blood trailing from the corners of your mouth you turned back to the camera.

“Just read it. Come on, sweetheart. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you,” Bucky muttered under his breath, entirely unwilling to see you get hit again. You straightened your back, a hardened scowl on your lips.

“ _This is a warning to the people of New York,_ ” you read, your voice flat and defiant, “ _The Avengers cannot protect you. They…”_ you took a deep breath, eyeing someone standing to the right of the camera before you continued, “ _They can’t even protect their own.”_

Bucky’s throat ran dry and Sam’s pacing behind him ceased.

“ _You will hear from us again_ ,” a man off screen said, American, deep voice, and the blatant detest on your face as you glared at him made it clear he was the man in charge. 

A heavy breath in your lungs, eyes glancing back to the camera, a new kind of softness behind the hue of your irises, like you were searching for him beyond the layers of technology. 

Then, the screen turned black and you were gone. 


	4. Four

**T W O W E E K S E A R L I E R**

You couldn’t hear Bucky when he called your name or when he had begged you leave without him. His voice was muffled and muted by the barrier between you and you would have given just about anything to hear his voice once last time, to hold him, to touch him and brush his hair from his eyes, to remind him that he was so incredibly adored and that none of this was his fault, but you wouldn’t get the chance.

Harsh hands gripped at your arms until bruises formed under the thin layer of your suit as Hydra agents dragged you down the hallway. You watched helplessly as Bucky struggled to break through the impenetrable wall, fist colliding to the glass only for it to remain unmarked.

You tried to fight the men, digging your heels to the concrete and flailing in their arms, but there were too many of them. From the distance, you could still make out the desolation in the blue of Bucky’s eyes, the pain and guilt you had helped him work so hard to let out go of rushing back to the surface; the unbridled shock on his face when you said the one thing you had been trying to tell him for years, when you told him _you loved him._

On some level you were sure that he knew, but watching the genuine surprise on his face mixed with the devastation of what was about to happen was something else entirely; knowing he had you and lost you all at once.

The agents dragged you around the corner, Bucky disappearing from view, and with one sharp hit to the side of your head, you were pulled to the darkness.

When you woke again, it was to ice cold water and a hard burning in your lungs. Shocked back to consciousness, you struggled to find your breath amongst the pour of the water on your face. When it finally let up, your chest was heaving in throbbing pants, hands curling into the arm rests of the chair you had been bound to, as beads of water ran down your back, your face, and dripped from the ends of your hair.

In front of you stood three men, all dressed in military style uniforms. The two in the back held automatic assault weapons aimed in your direction, safety released, despite the fact that you were currently cuffed in place.

The man at the center stood with his arms crossed; dark hair, scruff along his jaw line, and a jagged scar running from his left temple to the bridge of his nose, crossing over his eye and leaving a clouded, damaged orb in its place he didn’t bother to cover. He wasn’t one you recognized. None of them were.

He nodded to the man standing on your right who held the now empty bucket in his hands. Then, Scarface dismissed the three men, leaving you alone with him. 

He began to circle you, studying you from every angle and you did your best to keep your breathing steady despite the rage boiling in your chest. When he came back around to your front, a slow smirk drew up the right corner of his lips.

“Agent Y/l/n, it is such a pleasure to have you in our company,” he drawled, voice thick, deep, and with an American accent. “My name is Alex Cainning. But you can call me Cain.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, unwilling to provide even an ounce of reaction. Cain shrugged, unbothered.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we went through the trouble of setting up false intel just to lure you to our base and provide us with the prime opportunity to take hostage one of _Earth’s Mightiest Heroes._ ” He chuckled, unable to even get the term passed his lips before he started laughing. “That title always irked me. Sure, I get the science experiments and egotistical billionaire with the super suit and the literal God of Thunder, but _you?_ What do you possibly have to offer to a team like that? You’re human. Weak. Just like the arrow guy and the soviet whore.”

You gritted your teeth. “So why take me? Why bother if I’m so… _uninteresting_?”

“Even despite your failings, your arrogance is astounding.” Cain smiled, running his tongue over the white of his teeth. “You make the mistake in thinking this is even about you.”

A flash of surprised grazed your features and before you could restrain it. Cain had clearly noticed. A satisfaction curved up his lips as he turned towards the door. He paused, knocked several times and the locks began to unclick. You counted eight.

“We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, Agent Y/l/n,” Cain said as he stepped through the door, the dim lighting behind him making it impossible to make out the layout beyond the four walls to the cell they had dropped you in. “Make yourself comfortable. You won’t be leaving.”

The door slammed shut and the metal clasps binding your wrists to the chair snapped open. Sprinting up, you raced to the door, shoving your shoulder against it though you knew it would do no use. You pounded your fists to the metal frame, shouting for them to let you go, to _face you_ like the grimy cowards they were, and you only stepped away when your arms had grown sore and an ache throbbed in your hands.

You panted, turning back to look around the room. Concrete walls by concrete floor with a single twin mattress sitting upon the ground in the left corner. It was stained and warped with use, springs puncturing the surface and a dark red discoloring on the ground beside it.

Head pulsing, you brought your hand to the source to find a sticky substance on your head. A heavy sigh as you lowered your hand to examine it further to find blood coating your fingertips. You must have sustained the injury when they knocked you out.

Feeling dizzy, you slowly made your way to the mattress, grabbing a hold of the corner and dragged it to the right side of the room, away from the blood stain on the floor. You flipped the mattress over, somewhat relieved to find the underside minimally less repulsive, and collapsed down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried not to think about what Cain had meant, about why they chose to take you of everyone who had stormed that base.

Bucky was just as trapped on the other side of that wall, if not more so because he didn’t have access to the exit the way you did. But they left him alone, didn’t even attempt to injure or subdue him. They just left him to watch. It didn’t make any sense.

Why bother taking you if it wasn’t you they wanted?

***

Five days later and you learned their routine.

With no windows in your room, it was impossible to keep track of time, but these men, _these soldiers,_ had schedules, and they came barreling into your cell with the smell of coffee on their breath and crumbs in their beards enough to tell you that morning broke. They’d strap you into the chair, ask you some questions about the security at the compound to which you’d give them _jack-shit_ , and they’d return the favor with a few cuts to your arms, a punch to the gut, or a damp washcloth pressed over your nose and mouth until you couldn’t breathe.

You’d been trained by the best, which meant you could withstand torture on par with Navy Seals. It frustrated Cain to no end, though he still had yet to explicitly tell you what they had captured you for. You assumed part of it was to obtain information on the Avenger’s compound, on the Avenger’s habits and schedules, perhaps on SHIELD’s strike strategies or their weapon’s base, but that was information he’d be able to get from any agent, even a rookie. It didn’t explain why they needed _you._

After a few bruises to your ribs, reopening the split in your lip, and coming up empty handed _again,_ they’d leave you alone for a few hours.

Then, they’d return a second time and once you overheard one of them grumbling about the choices of food in the dining hall, which lead you to believe their second visit took place around dinner time. It was around then that they’d bring you a tray of three slices of bread, a wrinkling apple with brown spots on the sides, and a cup of water that had flecks in it and a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t touch it for the first three days, but caved on the fourth from the awful pangs in your stomach.

So, for five days, you knew what to expect. Torture and interrogation on the first visit in the morning. Food on the second visit. Aimless silence and solitude in between.

That was, until you were no longer alone.

Halfway through your fifth day in captivity, mid-way between the waterboarding you endured earlier that morning over your refusal to provide information on the layout of the compound and your only meal of the day, you heard a muffled groan through the wall beside you.

Propping yourself up on your elbows on the lumpy mattress, you narrowed your eyes on the wall next to you. A sharp crack in the foundation of the concrete ran along the surface, ending in an impossibly small opening by the corner of the walls. A shuffling came through, this time followed by the sharp close of a door.

You leaned closer to the hole in the wall in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what lied beyond it, but then the twist in your stomach sent a stabbing pain through you ribs and you let out a yelp, collapsing back down onto the mattress that provided no relief. You grumbled under your breath, frustrated with the state of your weakened body.

“Hello?” a voice called through the wall, male, American. Midwestern, maybe. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m here,” you huffed, pressing your hand to your side to help alleviate the pain from where Cain had given a rather rough beating to your ribs the day before.

“Where– Where are we?” the voice asked, trembling almost, and it surprised you.

“Not sure,” you replied truthfully, staring up at the ceiling. “Hydra base for sure. Location… Don’t have a clue. Nationalities of the soldiers seem to be all over the place so getting a sense of the country has been difficult. My best guess is western Asia, maybe Middle East. Couldn’t have been more than a few hours plane from where they took me in Russia.”

There was a long pause before the voice spoke.

“Sounds like you, uh, you know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

You shrugged, hulling yourself up to sit on the mattress with your back pressed to the wall. The crack wasn’t wide enough to get a good look at him but you could make out the blur of him sitting just a foot away from the shared wall, knees tucked to his chest.

“Yeah, well, it’s kind of my job to know that kind of stuff,” you said, surprised when a breath of a laugh passed through you. When he didn’t reply, you took a deep breath. “So, what got you landed in this dump, anyway?”

“Oh– I um, I was stationed in Iran with my unit and… it was so stupid, I wandered off base to help this guy whose car broke down,” he replied and you could hear him tap his head against the wall in frustration.

“Army?”

“First tour, actually,” he confirmed with a heavy sigh. “Didn’t even make it three weeks.”

He sounded young. Too young to be signing his life over to a military that would offer him no favors and leave him defenseless and traumatized when _and if_ he eventually returned back to the states. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

“Listen kid,” you started, pressing your hand to the wall as if he could see you. “I’m with SHIELD and I guarantee there’s some pretty pissed off people looking for me. We’ll get you out of here, okay?”

“SHIELD? Shit, you must be pretty important,” he chuckled softly and it was nice to hear the fear slipping out of his voice.

“I don’t know about that,” you replied, though the smile fell from your face rather quickly. An image of Bucky on the other side of the glass barrier flashed behind your eyes, the panic, the desperation, the last words you saw on his lips as you were dragged away from him, kicking and screaming. “My team, they’re like my family. They’ll find me.”

“Sounds nice. My unit just rags on each other all day and I’m pretty sure my Sergeant straight up hates me.”

You laughed, listening to his stories from the base. Once he started talking, it was difficult to get him to stop, not that you much wanted to. It was a nice alternative to being alone with your thoughts, getting caught up in wondering what Bucky was doing or if he was losing himself again to the guilt and shame he worked so hard to overcome.

Over the next few hours, you learned the kid’s name was Danny and he grew up in some town in Indiana with a total of two gas stations and a single grocery store. He told you he thought joining the army was his shot to make something of himself when he dropped out of community college a year in and couldn’t find a decent paying job to make it work back home.

Danny was a sweet kid. Young. Naïve. The kind of person that would disobey orders to help a stranger start their car a mile off base, only to find out it was a trap set by Hydra agents.

The hours seemed to go by faster now that you had Danny. He only put the pieces together about who you really were when you gave him your first name.

“Y/n? Wait–” Danny paused, a soft shuffling as he repositioned himself on the other side of the wall. “As in Agent Y/n Y/L/n of the _Avengers_?”

You chuckled at that, a slight nod before you realized he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Holy shit! How did you not lead with that!?” Danny shouted excitedly, though a muffled breath alerted you that he had clapped his hand to his mouth to keep his voice down. “You were all over the news before I got taken…”

“Oh–”

“So, the team you were talking about? Your family… is _the Avengers_?” Danny asked, seeking confirmation he didn’t quite need as he started to answer it all on his own. “That’s nuts! What’s it like working for Captain America? Or, or _Iron Man_? Is Tony Stark as cool as he seems?”

“Well first off, I don’t work _for_ Rogers. I work _with_ him,” you laughed, enjoying his amusement, “and Stark is a massive dork. Don’t believe the garbage in the papers about him. He’s a good guy and definitely way cooler than he seems.”

Danny asked you about a hundred different questions about what it was like working with the Avengers, about your friends, and how you came to be part of the team.

You wondered if he had chosen a different path, if maybe there were more opportunities presented to him, he would have done well as an Agent, or a technical analyst, or even doing crew work because he had the kind of excitement so many of the rookies were lacking these days.

Hours later, your stomach was starting growl, more so than it usually did, and it was getting close to your second visit of the day. You were laying down on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, hand propped under your head as you did your best to get comfortable.

You told Danny of the schedule you had come to learn and warned him that they might try and hurt him for information he won’t know the answers to. That scared him a bit, but you promised you’d be here for him, that if he could just hold on a little while longer, you were certain Buc– _your team_ would get the two of you out of here soon.

***

You started keeping track of the days in scratched lines under the top right corner of the mattress. Nine marks in the concrete. Nine days you’d been held in captivity.

You kept your eyes closed long after you woke from your restless sleep, muscles aching from the lumps in the hard mattress and goosebumps littering your skin from the chill in the room. The dream you had had been a decent one, one absent of nightmares and horrors from your past or the fear of your impending future. No, this dream was about the first time you got Bucky to leave the compound and venture out into Brooklyn.

_You decided to borrow one of Tony’s cars after some serious convincing and a few concessions to opt for his team over Steve’s in the next full team mission and to bring him back a cold pizza from a specific shop in Queens. Tony was always a bit of a negotiator and he took a quick liking to you after you joined the team a few years back. He had a hard time saying no to you._

_Bucky was apprehensive the entire walk down the garage. Hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, navy blue bomber hiding the reflection of his left arm, and a baseball cap to shield his eyes. He was still in covert mode and you were determined to shake him of that. He didn’t need to be so guarded. He was an Avenger now, not a criminal, and he had every right to enjoy a day in the city as the next guy._

_You told him so and he just waved you off with a shrug. He didn’t believe it just yet._

_He stared at the red paint on Stark’s convertible as you jumped into the driver’s seat for a solid three minutes before he eventually opened the door and slumped into the seat next to you._

_“There’s no turning back now, Barnes,” you grinned over at him as you roared the engine to life. It was an older model, vintage, and the engine had that kind of purr that reminded Bucky of cars from his youth. He let a smile slip before he could suppress it._

_He had only been living at the compound for a few months and while he had started coming on those early runs with you and would only occasionally mumble a few things under his breath, he had still agreed to go with you into the city. It surprised you when he said yes right away. You thought you would have needed to threaten his coffee supply before he caved, though you didn’t complain._

_You parked Tony’s car outside of the city limits at a train station that was largely unoccupied and purchased tickets to the heart of Brooklyn from the woman at the counter. Bucky stood a careful distance behind you, silently observing the few commuters standing by the platform from under the bridge of his cap._

_“Hey,” you said softly, noticing the way he was suspiciously eyeing a man reading a newspaper on a bench by the tracks, taking a step further away, “you’re safe, Bucky. No one here is a threat.”  
_

_Without thinking, you ran your hand up his arm in hopes to ease his tension, but in that shiver that traces up his spine, he flinched away instantly, almost repulsively and he gritted his teeth, embarrassed at his own reaction. He hadn’t meant to, but he_ _wasn’t used to touch like that. Soft. Gentle. Without cruel intent._

_You quickly muttered an apology and stepped away from him, giving him a few feet of space. You didn’t notice the way he glanced back over at you, sad blue eyes wishing for you to try again, knowing if he had just been prepared for it, if he’d known it was coming from you, he’d lean into it. It would be welcomed, maybe. He hoped._

_When the train rolled up at the platform, you ushered for Bucky to follow you inside. At the rear of the car, you spotted two open seats far away from the crowd, though you did warn him it would fill up before you made it to Brooklyn. Bucky nodded at that, though he still insisted on sitting in the aisle seat. Quickest escape. Easiest to protect you._

_He did better on the train than you expected, even with the crowds and with the unpleasant memories of the fall, though you did have to stare daggers into a teenager who had set his sights on Bucky. Some cocky little prick who recognized the former winter soldier and was snickering something to his snide little friends. It was the last thing Bucky needed. So, you scooted just an inch closer to him and didn’t take your eyes off the kid the entire way to Brooklyn. If Bucky noticed, he didn’t say anything._

_Once you got to your stop, Bucky had exhaled a heavy sigh of relief the moment he stepped out of the train. The sun was warm on your skin, even in shorts and a t-shirt, so you couldn’t imagine how Bucky was feeling under all those layers._

_You tried to convince him to take the jacket off, but he just pressed out a thin smile and said, “I’m good, doll.”_

_It was the first time he called you one of those names, those terms of endearment he never seemed to give to anyone else, and it made your stomach twist. He said it so casually, just rolling off his tongue, and you wondered if he realized the effect it had._

_You had your sights on bringing him to a bookstore that claimed to be around since the ‘20s, but the architecture seemed too recent and if you were honest, you wanted to prove to those gentrifying hipsters that you saw right through their round framed glasses, ankle pants, and expertly groomed facial hair. Regardless, you needed to get Bucky caught up on the literary masterpieces he missed in the last few decades._

_Bucky kept a careful stride by your side, though you noticed he swerved out of the way of on-comers despite being much larger of anyone he encountered. It was endearing almost, and though you knew he was nervous, he still came with you anyway. It made you smile._

_“Oh! Bucky, there it is!” you yelped, pointing to the bookshop across the street. You grabbed his left hand from his jacket pocket without thinking much of it and dragged him across the street._

_He jogged behind you, trying to keep up as you pushed through a sea of pedestrians, and you didn’t let go of his hand even as you stepped into the cool air conditioning of the bookshop._

_“This wasn’t here in the forties, was it?” you prodded from Bucky, eyes catching on the hipster you often found yourself feuding with. The owner, characteristically wearing suspenders he clearly didn’t need, rolled his eyes._

_Bucky cleared his throat and you narrowed your eyes on him, confused, until he glanced down between you to your hands, still wrapped together with yours clutching solid metal. Your eyes widened and you stepped away from him, dropping his hand in an instant._

_“Shit, I’m– I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you apologized nervously, scratching at the back of your neck. “I don’t always think when I get excited and– I’m sorry I should have paid more attention. I know you don’t like it when people touch–”_

_“It’s okay,” Bucky replied sincerely, cutting you off with the sweet, kind smile you couldn’t seem to get out of your head._

_He glanced around the bookshop, stepping further inside, and to your surprise, he removed his hat. The hairs at the nape of his neck were damp with sweat and while you knew there wasn’t a chance he’d go as far to remove his jacket, it was a step. He raked his fingers through his hair to put shape back to it._

_“I don’t know for sure, but I definitely don’t recognize this place,” Bucky offered and before he could tell you that he almost swore there used to be a tailor in this spot, you had already started gloating to the thirty-something-year-old owner._

_By the time you turned around again, Bucky was chuckling under his breath and it made something swell behind your chest._

Now, lying in the cold, dimly lit cell at a Hydra facility, you kept that image of Bucky as long as you could. Not daring to open your eyes in fear of losing the picture of the crinkles up by his eyes, the incredibly kind blue of his irises, the freckles under the thin layer of scruff on his cheeks and the wonder with which he carried as you explored the rest of Brooklyn together.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold back the well of tears when suddenly, the sharp clicks of your door began to unlock.

“Y/n…?” Danny’s voice called for you nervously, recognizing the sound himself.

“Don’t let them know you can hear what goes on, okay?” you said quickly, watching the door for when it opens. “No matter what happens, I’ll be fine, you hear me? Just don’t let them know. They’ll move one of us if they do.”

Danny didn’t have time to reply before the door to your room slammed open with a sharp _bang!_ and Cain strolled inside, pushing his sleeves up his arms. His eyes settled on you as two of his men rushed towards you, grabbing a tight hold of your arms and yanking you to your feet. They shoved you into the chair deadbolted to the center of the room and locked your wrists into the metal cuffs.

“It’s going to be a good day, Y/n,” Cain smirked, leaning over you and running his fingers down the side of your face. You stretched your neck away from him, revolted by his touch. Cain only snickered, unbothered, as he straightened his back.

“Yeah?” you grumbled. “Why’s that?”

“Because today is the day you’re going to tell me about what our… _mutual_ friend,” Cain sneered and the men behind him started to laugh. You narrowed your eyes, a dread forming in your stomach, as Cain cracked his knuckles. “How’s the asset adjusting to the ivory tower? He still twitchy if he hears a certain set of words?”

You clenched your jaw tight enough to draw blood from the bite of your cheek. Face as stoic as you could manage, you didn’t dare meet Cain’s eye. Even hearing Bucky referred to as ‘the asset’ set a rage firing in your stomach.

“Touchy subject?” Cain taunted and he threw a nauseating smirk at the soldiers behind him, all too amused by your attempts to ignore him. “Tell me, what exactly is your relationship to the soldier? Can’t imagine he actually has feelings under all that mush in his brain. I do have to be honest, though. I am exceptionally curious… can he even get it up?”

You let a heavy breath exhale through your nose as you kept you stare at the door. You jaw ached from how tight to was clamped down. He snickered with the guards behind him and your nails dug into the wood of the chair.

“Listen _princess_ ,” Cain started, pacing back and forth along the small room, “we can go through this day by day and I can keep torturing you, but when is it going to end? _Huh?_ It ends with you telling me what I want to know. AndI want to knowabout that _insufferable, botched experiment of a traitor!_ ”

Cain’s fist hit the side of your face before you could quite prepare for it. It stung, burned, and you met his eye as you spat blood onto the floor.

He groaned, shaking his head in disgust. “Did that… _teenager_ in Wakanda get the trigger words out of the asset’s head or not?”

“His name is Bucky, you piece of shit,” you growled and a flash of shock flash over Cain’s face, only to be replaced by an unsettling rage as his upper lip began to twitch, a heat in his face built entirely from fury.

He held his hand out behind him and one of the soldiers placed a brass ring in the center of his palm. You took in a steady breath, heart pounding, and in a fruitless attempt to prepare yourself. Cain slipped the ring onto his fingers, admiring it as it reflected in the dim lighting.

“One last time before this gets ugly. Have your docs cleared the trigger words from the asset’s head? Answer me, bitch, or you’ll regret it.”

“ _Fuck. You_ ,” you spat, your hands curling into the arm rests, ready for what came next. He was a fool if he thought you’d turn on Bucky before you turned on SHIELD. You’d give up everything before you gave up Bucky.

It didn’t matter why they needed to know if Shuri had been successful in clearing the trigger words from his mind. You weren’t telling them shit, even if the words had been removed years ago. Bucky was free from these assholes and it wasn’t information they should even had the privilege of knowing.

Then, in one swift movement, Cain’s hand curled into a fist and he let out a ragged shout as the brass metal of the ring came in contact with the side of your face. A sharp _crack!_ sounded through the room and your vision began to double. Cain swayed in front of you, two of him, four of the men behind him, and he shook the blood from his knuckles.

You struggled to keep your head up, eyes falling heavy as the menacing sound of his laugh echoed through the room. The last thing you saw was his hand raising up again, ready to strike, before darkness consumed you.

***

“Y/n?”

You groaned, rolling over onto your back and your cheek stung as your skin pealed from the concrete. Dried blood caked against the ground as you struggled to push yourself up. You didn’t know how you ended up on the floor or when they had released you from the chair, but the splitting ache in your head was enough to know you’d been knocked out cold.

“Come on, Y/n, wake up… you better still be alive over there…”

“M’alive,” you muttered out, using most of your energy to do so. Your arms collapsed beneath you and the concrete was cool on your skin.

“You sure?” Danny called nervously. “It didn’t sound good over there… What do they want with the Winter Soldier anyway?”

“Bucky,” you choked out as you crawled to the mattress in the corner of the room.

“What?”

“His name is Bucky,” you repeated, determined for at least one other person in this hell hole to know Bucky as the man you did, not just as the weapon Hydra designed him to be.

Danny paused and you could vaguely hear him scratching at his head. “Right, of course. Sorry. Do you think they’ll go after Bucky, too?”

You sighed, a slight swell of relief as you curled up onto the mattress, resting your head against the thin layer of cushion, thought it was stiff and prodded you with metal springs.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you admitted, eyes falling heavy again. “If they want to know about the trigger words, they’re probably looking to activate the soldier again or… I don’t know…” your eyes closed, head starting to feel dizzy again and you struggled to talk, “…make new ones or… restart… restart the program with someone else… make it so they can’t take the words out of… of…”

Danny cursed under his breath and you didn’t hear him call your name again, lost again to the cold embrace of your mind.

***

Fourteen marks hidden under your mattress and it had been two weeks since you’d been taken hostage. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t questioning whether the team would ever find you. You held onto that image of Bucky, the one of him from your day in Brooklyn with the smile that etched up into his eyes, because it was the only thing keeping you from giving in to the hopelessness Cain worked so hard to instill in you.

“You doing okay, kid?” you asked through the wall after Danny groaned for the third time in as many minutes.

Turned out, Hydra had a use for the young soldier because they started to take him from his cell mid-way between the two visits they paid to your room. Danny was quiet about what they did when he was taken away. All he’d tell you was that they beat him and asked a few questions he didn’t know the answers to. You left it alone.

“Yeah,” Danny sighed, mattress squeaking as he turned over. “Better than you seem to be.”

Cain had grown increasingly frustrated with you and your refusal to give him any information on the team or on Bucky. He broke your nose the day prior and had yet to allow the doctor on site to attend to the infected open wound on your cheekbone from the brass ring. It oozed and smelled and ached like nothing else, like it had a pulse all its own.

Not only that, but Cain had decided to withhold your meals for the last three days as punishment for when you spat on his face after he taunted you about Bucky’s history as the soldier, how they had conditioned him and broke him. Despite the three punches to your gut that followed, it had been worth it. At least, until you started to feel so weak you could hardly hold your head up.

“I told you, Danny, I’m a survivor. It’s what I’m trained for,” you replied, leaning against the wall to get some relief from the fever flushing your skin.

“Yeah, but–”

The clicks echoed through your room and Danny silenced immediately. You closed your eyes, a heavy exhale in your lungs as you prepared for the devil to walk through. Cain stepped in through the frame with two lackies behind him. Only bothering to watch from the corner of your eye as you kept yourself slumped against the wall, too tired and too feverish to even produce the effort to glare at him.

“Come on, princess, we’ve got a show to do,” Cain sneered, his hand snaking around your forearm painfully tight and he yanked you to your feet. Your knees buckled under you and Cain let out a frustrated groan and tossed you into the arms of one of his men. “Get her to the holding room.”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied in a thick Australian accent. His grip was no kinder as he hulled you through the door.

As they dragged you through the hallways, you tried to memorize the layout of the building, but were met with too much stimulation, blinding white lights, chatter of the agents, and an influx of various sounds you hadn’t been exposed to in weeks and it was all too much. You clamped your eyes shut and the dizziness in your head kept you from following his pattern through the halls.

Then, you were thrown to the ground, cold concrete under your body and a sigh of relief was only short lived before you were yanked up again, shoved into a chair and wrists locked to the arm rests.

You licked at the split on your lip, seeking moisture to alleviate the dryness there, only for it to burn. You winced, trying to find your strength as you watched Cain pace around the room. It was then you noticed the camera standing upon a tripod just a few feet from you. You swallowed back the bile in your throat at the steady realization of what they were going to attempt.

A woman walked into the room; someone Cain must have been waiting for because he stopped pacing the moment she stepped through the frame. Blonde hair tied up away from her face and dressed in jeans and a black, long sleeve t-shirt; she made her way to the camera, standing behind it and adjusting the specs.

“Listen up, princess,” Cain growled, grabbing a tight hold of your chin and forcing you to look in his direction. “You’re going to read from the cue cards and that’s it, do you hear me? No cute little quips or secret messages, because we’ll just start over and you won’t like what happens when we do.”

Cain’s grip grew tighter and you couldn’t stop the whimper the came out. Cain smirked at that, releasing you and your jaw ached even as he stepped away. He moved to stand behind the blonde woman he addressed as ‘Moira’ and nodded for one of his henchmen to hold the card up.

The red light appeared on the side of the camera, blinking. You stared at it for a moment, the thought occurring to you that your friends would see this, _Bucky_ would see this, and you didn’t want to imagine the look on their faces when they did. If anything, it gave them proof you were still alive. You knew the SHIELD protocol was to presume an agent dead after ten days missing behind enemy lines. It was an efficient system, a largely accurate one. Hydra didn’t usually keep their prisoners alive for this long.

“Read,” Cain seethed from behind the camera and you thought of Bucky, of Nat, of Steve, Tony, Sam, everyone back at the compound and you wondered what they would do, if they would give in to these demands so easily.

So, with a defiance, you looked straight into the camera and spat, “Fuck Hydra.”

It was a mistake.

Cain rushed at you, unclipped your restraints and slammed you so hard against the wall, you were certain your head cracked. Vision blurring as his hand wrapped around your neck, spitting words into your ear you couldn’t quite hear as his fingers dug into your jugular. You scratched at him, nails too frail to make any bit of difference, and you struggled to breathe.

Gasping for breaths, kicking the air beneath you and Cain pushed you higher up the wall, and an immeasurable pressure built in your lungs, in your head, and you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“Enough, Cain! I need her to actually be able to speak for this to be effective,” Moira groaned and Cain released his grip on you. You slumped down to the floor, barely able to catch your breath. “I’ll just keep rolling. Get her in the chair and we’ll go again.”

This time, it was Cain’s men that strapped you down to the chair, masks covering their faces for the sake of the camera. You stared at the blinking red light, then to the center of the lens, knowing that Bucky, _your Bucky_ , would be on the other side watching this soon enough. You didn’t dare wonder how he’d react.

For a brief moment, unsure, your eyes flicked to Cain. Without much of a warning, his fist barreled against your jaw, just for the hesitation, and you spit a glob of blood off the side of the chair.

It took every ounce of energy you had to glare in his direction, though when Cain’s hand curled back into a fist and his upper lip twitched at you, you dropped your gaze.

Then, looking back to the cue cards placed just under the camera’s lens, you read, “My name is Special Agent Y/n Y/L/n. I am an Agent of SHIELD, an Avenger, and I was abducted by Hydra two weeks ago from their base in Western Russia.”

Your voice was raspy, broken, from Cain’s grip on your neck.

Moira grabbed a newspaper from the floor and put it in front of the camera, focusing on the date. Then, she tossed it aside. You swallowed back the excess blood in your throat. You glanced down at the cue cards, narrowing your eyes upon the words. Your heart dropped.

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw as you turned to Cain. “I’m not reading that.”

Another hit to your jaw and blood splattered from your lips. A heavy pant in your lungs and a blinding pulse in your head, you turned back to the camera. There was no fighting this. Your body couldn’t take any more. You straightened your back, hardening your features so it was clear, without a doubt, that these words were not your own.

“This is a warning to the people of New York,” you read, your voice flat and defiant. “The Avengers cannot protect you. They…” you took a deep breath, eye flashing at Cain before your turned back to the camera and thought of Bucky. You knew he’d take your words to heart, that he’d latch onto any excuse to blame himself for this, and you spoke the words anyway, even if you hated yourself for it. “They can’t even protect their own.”

The cue cards fell to the ground and Cain nodded, pleased as you bit down on your tongue to deprive him of the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“You will hear from us again,” Cain announced off camera and you couldn’t stop the look of blatant detest as you glared at him.

Moira moved to turn off the camera and your breath hitched. It was your last connection to Bucky, to your family. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the lens, imagining that it was Bucky you were staring at; deep blue ocean eyes and a kind smile that warmed a sense of relief in your chest.

Then, the red dot vanished and he was lost to you.


	5. Five

**O N E M O N T H L A T E R**

Bucky was covered in sweat. Blood dripped from the gash on his forehead and an awful pain in his left thigh from where a knife was currently embedded into the muscle. He let out a guttural shout, shoving the Hydra agent back several feet and straight through the wall, leaving a gaping hole in the foundation as particles of dust and drywall clouded around him.

The agent groaned, turning onto his stomach and attempted to crawl away, hands scrambling on the concrete, but Bucky was too quick, stalking over him with a quick yank to the knife buried in his leg and tossed it across the room. He reached down and grabbed a tight grip of the man’s collar, heaving the agent to his feet, then higher still as he held him off the ground. The man’s feet kicked at the air.

_“Where is she?!”_

“I don’t know what you’re—"

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Bucky howled, shaking the agent as his hands grasped at Bucky’s left wrist, nails scratching over metal plates. Bucky slammed the agent against what was left of the wall. “Tell me where she is or I’ll end your pathetic little li-”

“Bucky!” Steve shouted as he emerged through the hole in the wall, holstering his weapon.

Bucky shot Steve a glare, turning back to the agent and pressing the grip of his hand around the man’s neck, watching as he started to turn red. It was satisfying to watch him squirm.

Steve groaned, half-jogging towards Bucky until he stood over his shoulder.

“Buck, stop it,” Steve demanded, voice stern though he didn’t make a move to force Bucky to stand down. “We need him for information. You kill him and he’s useless to us.”

“He’s pretty useless right now,” Bucky countered, pressing harder on the agent’s windpipe.

“We don’t know that for sure,” Steve warned, cautious eyes glancing over his friend. “We’ll bring him back with us and interrogate him. He might know something, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

Bucky growled, eyes narrowing on the man as his skin began to turn a light shade of blue, lips gasping for breath, eyes bulging, and then, Bucky released his grip. The agent fell to the floor, coughing and retching as he struggled to find air. Bucky rolled his eyes in disgust, stepping away just as Sam rushed in to restrain the agent on the floor.

As Bucky made his way through the hole in the wall, blood dripping from the open wound in his thigh, Steve put his hand on his shoulder, a soft touch though it brought Bucky to a cold stop.

“I don’t like what this is doing to you, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, the flattened expression seemingly permanent on his features. “I left this one alive for you, Steve. That should be good enough.”

Without bothering to wait for the speech Steve usually gave at the end of every raid about how Bucky was coming dangerously close to winter soldier territory and how he should take a break from missions for a few days, Bucky pushed his way out of the room and towards the quinjet. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sit out another mission, not until they brought you home. He didn’t care if he fell right back into the cold, dark shell he barely existed in in the years before you came into his life. He’d put himself through the chair before he gave up on you. Consequences be damned.

The ride back to the compound was filled with the same uncomfortable silence it usually carried. With Steve attending to the pilot’s seat and Sam guarding the Hydra agent they had taken prisoner, Natasha swung her legs around the seat ahead of Bucky, eyeing him carefully as he kept his stare hardened on the flicker of the altitude light on the dashboard.

He could feel her eyes on him, studying him, and he curled his hands around the arm rests.

“Steve’s got a point, you know,” Nat said, leaning her right shoulder against the backrest of the seat. “Don’t think Y/n would like what all this is doing to you, either.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “ _Y/n_ is being held captive by the people who tore me apart from the inside out. She knows what they could do to her and she’d want me to do whatever the hell it took to bring her home.”

Nat sighed, gaze dropping for a moment as her eyes flickered over to your empty seat, the one next to Bucky. “She wouldn’t want you to lose yourself in the process, James.”

She was right. Bucky knew as much. From his first mission back in the field following the clearance from his therapist and Dr. Cho, he’d been different; more aggressive, too quick to shoot on sight, a cold hollowness in his chest with every base they raided only to come up empty. 

He was a far cry from the man you knew. The one who smiled often and teased you about the pillow crease marks on your cheeks in the morning and learned how to make banana bread just because he overheard you mention just once in passing how much you loved it. He lost his quick-witted jokes with Sam and flinched away from Steve’s touch. You’d be disappointed in him for closing up so easily without you around.

Bucky clenched his jaw, turning back to Natasha. “Yeah, well Y/n isn’t here, is she?”

Nat stared back at him, firm features on her face, though a sadness lingered being her eyes. She nodded carefully because there was nothing left to say and turned back around in her seat. Bucky felt no relief.

Hours later as the team debarked the jet, Tony was waiting at the edge of the hanger, arms crossed over his chest and a desolate look upon his face. Bucky could already fell the tightness in his chest, knowing exactly what that look meant.

“We got another tape,” Tony said flatly. Steve and Sam exchanged a worried glance and Bucky could feel the entire team’s eyes on him, searching for a reaction they wouldn’t find. He was too numb for that now. Tony gestured for everyone to follow him back into the compound.

“How many does this put us at, Tony?” Steve asked as they made their way to the living room on the eleventh floor.

“Five,” Bucky replied, interjecting before Tony could answer. Sam cursed under his breath.

Since the first video was played on live television, different news networks across the country had started to receive a new tape once a week.

The second time you appeared on the television, looking worse than the first with the infection on your cheek spreading in angry red veins down your face, and dark purple bruising under your eye, Bucky had been out on a run.

He’d returned to find the entire team gathered around the television in the living room. Nat’s hand pressed over her mouth. Steve pacing back and forth as he stole quick glances at the screen. Sam gritting his teeth, arms crossed over his chest. Tony sitting on the very edge of the couch, hands clasped, head dropped.

You’d been forced deliver some bullshit line about how Hydra was the real hero of the attack in D.C. and how SHIELD was an enemy of the people. You looked like you had taken a fresh beating before that recording and Bucky knew you had tried to resist reading those cue cards, but Hydra has an exceptional way of making even the strongest of wills cave. He was familiar with it himself and he was thankful you did, if it spared you even an ounce of pain.

Tony was somehow able to get a hold of the third video before it aired and he did everything in his power to keep the news network from releasing it. It was shock value, _ratings_ , just to have your face on their screen, broken and beaten, reciting from cue cards with a voice so raspy Bucky could barely stand hearing it without tears welling behind his eyes. You swayed in the seat as you spoke, barely able to keep yourself upright. This time, Hydra had you talk about their technological advancements, how they were surpassing SHIELD in strategy and resources. Steve was taking notes.

The media started to speculate after that; throwing around commentary aimlessly about whether you were a traitor to the state or if you had been a double agent all this time. They had debates about if resources should be spent to find you at all, given the state of your appearance and the apparent ‘obvious’ fact that you’d given Hydra information on US defense programs. Bucky had nearly thrown an entire chair at the TV when he heard that. Even daytime talk shows and late-night hosts were talking about it, giving their two cents as if their opinion mattered.

The fourth video had been the worst. They didn’t bother with cue cards, or with strapping you to a chair. Instead, the entire three minute and forty-six second video was just a man in a black mask beating you. You were too weak, your muscles too deteriorated and brain too foggy to fight back. Blood splattered onto the camera lens when the final hit took you down, knocking you out cold.

Sam nearly lost his mind, calling down to the network himself for them to cut the feed to the damn video, questioning how they could even air something as graphic and violent as that. It always came back to the same answer: ratings.

The man in the mask, the same voice Bucky recognized from the first video, had said that this was a punishment for you as he held your unconscious body up for the camera to see. For what, Bucky didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t matter. He had gripped the edge of the counter so tight it broke into pieces in his hands.

Forty-five days you’ve been held captive by Hydra by the time the fifth video came in. _Forty-five days._

Bucky knew exactly the kinds of horrors you would face. He knew they would beat you and starve you and torture you until you lost your will to live. He didn’t dare let himself imagine you like he had once been; crying and begging, so fucking afraid and cringing from every touch because pain was all he came to know. He didn’t want to imagine you as anything other than the impossibly sweet, bubbly, endearing woman that pulled him from the cold edge of darkness, the woman he came to love.

“This aired while you guys were somewhere over the Atlantic,” Tony said, turning the TV on and setting up the recorded segment. This time, a man sat behind the anchor’s desk, dark brown hair coiffed away from his face and a navy-blue suit. He was scribing with a pen as he spoke, keeping his hands busy.

“– _received yet another recorded tape from members of the terrorist group known as Hydra_ ,” the man stated as an image of your face appeared on the screen beside him. It was a still from the previous video, blood covering your face. Bucky cringed.

“ _This time, the tape had been left at our studio headquarters in Los Angeles. The random drop offs seem to be the culprit’s main tactic in evading the police who have attempted to apprehend whoever is behind these recording_.”

The anchor sighed. “ _Please be advised that what you are about to see may be graphic and difficult to watch_.”

The warning that always proceeded these videos.

They didn’t have to show this. They didn’t have to put your pain and torture on display for millions to witness, but they did anyway. For what? _Ratings?_ They were feeding into what Hydra wanted. To create fear and distrust amongst the people, to see their hero beaten and broken while the Avengers did nothing to save her.

Bucky felt sick.

The screen switched to the same dark room they usually filmed these videos in and sure enough, there you were, gazing at the camera under heavy lids, purple bruises and features gaunt. Bucky gripped at the edge of the couch as he leaned against it for support, dropping his head for only a second to catch his breath. Steve’s hand rested on his shoulder and Bucky took as much strength as his friend was offering and faced the television again.

You swallowed, eyes glazing over as you struggled to read from the cards. There was a clench in your jaw, a sniffle, and Bucky realized suddenly you were trying to keep yourself from crying. You glanced over at someone behind the camera, pleading, begging, and you closed your eyes shut at whatever his response was. A tear slipped down the side of your face. Defeated. 

Bucky bit down so hard on his cheek he tasted blood.

“ _Bucky_ ,” you choked out and his stomach plummeted, all eyes in the room turning to him, “ _they know you’ll– you’ll be watching this and they have a message for you._ ”

You let out a shaky breath, hands curling against the arm rest, finger nails long been ripped from you, red angry skin in its place. Licking at your lips you shook your head subtly, so carefully that Bucky almost missed it, like you were trying to send him a sign beyond what your captors would notice. A tear passed over the dried blood caked on your cheek.

“ _This is—this is because of you_.”

Then, your restraints were released and you were being thrown from the chair, body slammed against the wall with such force you let out a pained cried as you struggled to grab onto the arm holding you in place. A tall figure, muscular build, with that same black mask covering his face he wore in every video thus far, wrapped his hand around your neck.

Bucky clenched his hands, arms trembling, helpless, because there was nothing he could do. This had already happened. You’d already been beaten, already uttered his name in that helpless cry, all while he was completely unaware. It was only a recording. He couldn’t save you from what had already happened. 

The man pulled you towards him, only to slam you against the wall again. When your face turned blue, he tossed your body carelessly across the room. You heaved through raspy breaths, desperate to find air and you tried to crawl away. The fear in your eyes was enough to break Bucky in two.

Then, the screen turned black.

“What the hell!” Bucky shouted, rushing towards the television, searching for the power button only to find it did nothing as he pressed it. He whipped around to face Stark. “What did you do!?”

“You don’t need to see that,” Tony replied calmly and Bucky nearly released a feral growl as he attempted to charge at Stark before Steve came up behind him and held him back.

Tony stood his head. “There’s nothing else in that video beside that asshole beating Y/n unconscious. _Again._ They’re doing it to torture you, Barnes.”

“So, let them!” Bucky shouted, struggling against Steve’s grip. He slammed Steve’s back against the television, though it did nothing to release his grip.

“I’ve seen the whole thing,” Tony snapped, shouting over the struggle between the super soldiers. “It’s ugly and I know for a fact Y/n wouldn’t want you to watch it. Its only purpose is to mess with you, don’t you get that? You saw how hard she was fighting even having to read that damn card! We all know you’d only use it as fuel to punish yourself again and again for her being where she is and I’m sick of it! Y/n would be pissed as hell that you’ve been so willing to jump right back into Winter Soldier mode at the _first excuse you got!_ ”

“Watch it, Tony!” Steve warned and Bucky threw himself from Steve’s hold.

To everyone’s surprise, even as Tony activated the extension of his suit on his hand from the pieces in his watch, as Sam and Nat readied themselves for a fight, Bucky remained completely still. Chest panting, hands clenching into painful grips at his side. A lull came over and everyone relaxed. Everyone but Bucky.

“What’s happening to Y/n is not your fault, Barnes,” Tony pressed and Bucky kept his gaze focused on the floorboards. “We all know that you did everything you could to save her that day. But Y/n is strong. Her body may be weak right now but her mind isn’t. She’s strong and she’ll survive this. Just… don’t be a different person when she gets back.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, looking up to Tony who was disarming the iron man armor on his hand. Tony was never someone Bucky expected to get along with, not after the history they shared, and he was okay with that. So, for Tony Stark, the man who Bucky deprived of his parents, to show him concern, to some him even some level of compassion, was too much.

He turned on his heels and left the room, disregarding his name as it was called.

***

“Let me talk to him.”

Forty-seven days since you’d been taken and Bucky stood outside of the interrogation room in the sub-ground level of the compound. Behind the thick layer of the one-way mirror, Bucky observed the agent he nearly beat to death in the abandoned Hydra base in Germany sitting smugly at the center of the room. The agent that now had an identity after FRIDAY was able to run facial recognition.

His name was Cal Jennings, a mid-level agent with a Hydra security clearance high enough to know more than what he said. Dried blood caked on his upper lip from where Natasha had broken his nose on day one of her interrogation. He wasn’t the same fearful mess he had been when Bucky had his hands on him. It was a front, a ploy, to lure Bucky into killing another one of their agents before they could be interrogated for information.

Jennings sat alone, arms tied behind his back, as he stared at the mirror. If Bucky didn’t know this was a one-way mirror, he would have thought Jennings was looking right at him.

“You know I can’t allow that, Buck,” Steve replied to his request as he turned away from the window to face his friend. “He knows something and–”

“That’s exactly why you need to send me in, Steve,” Bucky countered, growing desperate. “I can get it out of him. You know I can.” Steve hesitated, clearly thinking and Bucky continued, “If he knows anything about where Y/n is… Please, Stevie.”

Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping and he gave a slow nod.

Before Steve could change his mind, Bucky pushed his way out the door and into the hallway. The fluorescents were brighter out there, enough that he had to squint to avoid the harsh influx of light to his eyes. A few more steps and he was at the door. Right hand reached out and touched the cold metal of the knob, unclicking the locks until it swung open.

Jennings didn’t so much as turn in Bucky’s direction as he stepped into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Bucky studied Jennings, searching for weaknesses he’d been trained to locate in his Hydra days; fresh wounds to exploit, the slight dip of a bone broken years ago he could re-snap, the flicker of eyes to a vulnerable position. Jennings gave him nothing, kept his stare straight ahead on the mirror, admiring his own reflection, but Hydra had trained Bucky well. He would find something to make Jennings talk. He always did.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” Bucky grumbled, pacing around the room in slow, calculated steps, “where is she?”

Jennings chuckled and it made Bucky’s blood boil. “I thought I was… what did you say… ‘ _useless?_ ’”

“An act,” Bucky spat, circling around the back of Jennings’ chair. “You wanted me to kill you so you wouldn’t have to sit where you are now. You knew what you would face if we brought you in alive and you cowered away.”

Jennings smirked, meeting Bucky’s eye in the mirror. “You think very highly of yourself, Soldat.”

Bucky flinched at the name, a chill sweeping through his spine. Jennings pursed his lips, taking note of the curl of Bucky’s hand at it clenched into a fist.

“Tell me, _Soldat_ ,” Jennings taunted, “does your whore know everything about your past with us? Does she know how many you’ve killed? How many civilians have been caught in the crossfire? Does she know how much you enjoyed it?”

He paused, snickering as he glared over at Bucky with a kind of disgust and amusement all mixed in one, eager to watch the former soldier fall apart at the mere mention of your name. Jennings smirked.

“Does your girl know she’s fucking a monster?”

A growl ripped through Bucky’s chest and his left hand was suddenly wrapped around Jennings’ throat. Pressing hard against his vocal cords, Jennings still managed to chuckle through the gasps of air.

It didn’t matter that he’d never touched you like that, that he’d never had the chance to so much as tell you how he felt, let alone show you in such a way. The very idea of this man talking about you like that, the clear picture in his head as his licked his lips even with Bucky’s hand wrapped tight around his neck, drew a burning rage from somewhere dark, deep within Bucky’s chest.

A hand slammed against the one-way mirror from the observation room; Steve’s warning to back off. Bucky released Jennings with a grunt.

Heavy coughs and a snicker under his breath, Jennings only seemed to grin wider at Bucky’s reaction. “Touchy…”

“Where is she?” Bucky demanded, voice low, even, and restraining the rage festering under the surface.

“Who?”

“You know the fuck who, asshole.”

“Oh,” Jennings feigned realization. A short shrug of his shoulders and then, “Agent Y/l/n?”

Bucky took in a breath that was hot in his lungs. He folded the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, exposing the cold metal of his left forward. Jennings laughed to himself.

“I remember her. Liked the way that stealth suit of hers clung to her ass,” Jennings jeered, shooting Bucky a watchful stare from the reflection of the mirror, waiting for him to break. Bucky clenched his jaw, curling his hands back into fists to keep them off of the man’s face.

“Enough,” Bucky spat. “ _Where is she?_ ”

“You know, I see why you’re upset, Soldat. You know exactly what we will do to her because you’ve experienced it yourself,” Jennings said, too calmly, too arrogantly to stir up anything but a paralyzing dread in Bucky’s stomach. “You know that we’ll ruin her. You know we’ll rip her apart from the inside out. We’ll break her down so she becomes something so unrecognizable _you’d wish we had killed her!_ ”

Jennings yanked on his bindings, almost feral, and Bucky suddenly couldn’t move.

“She’s been beaten and tortured and mutilated just like you were!” Jennings continued with a malice in his voice Bucky had only heard in his decades under Hydra’s hold. “You won’t find her in time. You won’t save her. She’ll die in that cell the way you were supposed to! _You’re never going to see her again!_ ”

It was too much, the blood boiling in his veins, the pulsing in his head blinding his vision, and Bucky could hardly feel the ground beneath his feet. Jennings watched him from the mirror as Bucky stood in the back corner of the room, eyes on the floor, struggling to get ahold of himself and Jennings began to laugh, a sick kind of sound that only seemed to worsen the trembling in his hands.

“ _Tell me where she is!_ ” Bucky yelled out, punching his fist against the wall enough to break off fragments of the concrete wall behind his knuckles. Jennings shrugged, unaffected.

“Why would I do that?” he sneered, a vicious grin curling up his thin lips. “It’s so fun to see the infamous Winter Soldier, the man who has killed presidents and taken out entire governments single handedly, reduced to a lovesick, _pathetic_ little man over some cheap, worthless _whor_ –”

Bucky’s fist collided with the side Jennings’ face, enough for blood to splatter from the sick curve of his grin to the pavement below. But he didn’t let up. No, he swung again, this time with the hard metal of his left fist and Jennings’ chair, bolted to the ground, lifted from the hinges and crashed to the floor on its side. Bucky couldn’t hear Steve as he pounded on the glass, warning him, not as he threw punch after punch into Jennings’ side, his face, his gut, as he grabbed a hold of Jennings’ leg and twisted until something popped and Jennings let out a scream.

Steve and Sam barreled into the room, arms snaking around Bucky to hull him off, blood dripping off of his knuckles as he shook Sam off easily, shoving Steve back against the mirror causing it to crack. Bucky charged back to the ground, grabbing a firm grip of Jennings’ collar, forcing him to meet his eye, even under layers of blood on his face and the swelling already forming over his features.

“ _I won’t ask again!_ ” Bucky roared, fist held high, ready to strike, “ _Where is she?!_ ”

Steve and Sam froze behind Bucky as Jennings began to snicker, blood sleeping out from behind his lips, pooling over his chin. He spat a thick glob of it to the floor, teeth red as he jeered up at Bucky.

“You will _never_ find her, Soldat,” Jennings slurred through the blood pooled in his mouth. “Your final punishment is what we will do to her and she will _never_ be the same.”

Bucky dropped his grip, stumbling back and Jennings collapsed to the ground. Sam rushed forward, hulling Jennings’ chair back on its legs and pressed his fingers to Jennings’ pulse. A sigh of relief as he looked back at Steve, a nod, and Bucky nearly fell to the ground. Steve’s strong arms snaked under Bucky’s and yanked him to his feet before his knees could buckle under him.

“You got this?” Steve asked Sam, nodding at Jennings whose chin was draped to his chest, knocked out cold.

“Yeah I can handle this piece of shit,” Sam grumbled back, resting his hands on his hips. He glanced back at Buck as he hung in Steve’s grip. “Get him out of here.”

Bucky allowed Steve to assist him out of the room, just long enough to regain strength in his legs, and he waved him off carefully, giving him an appreciative nod. Steve didn’t say anything, but he walked Bucky the entire way to the elevator. For good reason, Bucky assumed. He would have tried to sneak back into the interrogation room for another shot at Jennings if he thought Steve wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“You’re not thinking straight, Buck,” Steve said as they approached the elevator. He pressed the single button and it illuminated under his touch.

“Never really could without her,” Bucky shrugged.

“That’s not true. You’ve done so well and, sure, Y/n has been a huge help in your recovery and you’ve only gotten better since you guys have been, um… close,” Steve said awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head, “but, you can still be _you_ without her. You’re strong enough for that.”

“What if I don’t want to be?” Bucky sighed dejectedly.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, though Bucky didn’t move. He stared at the small scratches on the metal shine of the wall, tiny imperfections. An ache sat and festered in Bucky’s chest, like a boulder holding weight on his lungs, only able to alleviate when you were beside him.

“Please, don’t say that,” Steve exhaled sadly. “We all know what she means to you and I know this is killing you but… you’ll survive this, Buck. We’ll bring her home, you hear me?”

“It’s just, I…” Bucky let out a heavy breath, turning to his oldest friend as his clenched his jaw, trying to stop the lump building in his throat, “I love her, Steve, and… and I’m– I’m afraid it’s the reason they’re doing this to her.”

The doors began to close and Steve stuck his hand out to hold them against the frame. Bucky stepped inside, pressing his lips into a thin line. It was the most he could manage. Steve only stared at him, trying to find the right words to say even if there were none. The doors tried to close again but Steve kept them open.

“We’ll bring her home, Buck,” he said again, though the hesitancy in his voice betrayed him.

“Okay,” Bucky sighed, unable to tear his eyes away from the ground. He wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore. 

The doors rang out and attempted to close a third time and Steve let his hand fall away, stepping back into the hall. There was nothing left to say.

***

Bucky didn’t know how he ended up at the door to your room, but there he was. It was quiet on the floor. With Steve and Sam still in the sub-level interrogating Jennings and Natasha spending most of her time training, the private quarters were largely unoccupied. You shared a floor with Bucky, Sam, and Wanda, though Wanda has been off in Wakanda for the last few months working with Shuri and Vision on controlling her abilities.

Bucky wondered if Stark had assigned him to this floor on purpose, with his room just a few feet away from yours. He could have thrown Bucky into a floor all his own, secluded, away from everyone else, just because he could, as some frankly reasonable punishment for what he did to Stark’s parents, though, he must have figured Bucky would have preferred that. And yet, being so close to you, running into you every morning felt almost like fate.

Slowly, he twisted the knob to your door, cool under his touch, and stepped inside. The window was open, curtains flowing softly with the breeze as it swept through the room. Chills ran up Bucky’s spine and he crossed the room to close the window. As he turned around, he spotted your workout clothes from that morning still tossed over the edge of your bed, sneakers kicked off by the bathroom, and the hanger your stealth suit lying on the floor by the door.

It was untouched, like you were never gone, like it hadn’t been forty-seven days since he last saw you.

Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat, glancing down at his right hand as he sat on the edge of your bed. His knuckles were covered in blood, red angry marks and broken skin upon his fist.

He closed his eyes and tried to bring himself back to the first time you had helped clean the wounds on his skin. Dr. Cho was busy tending to Steve’s injuries, with Sam closely next in line, and Bucky only had superficial cuts, ones he insisted would heal overnight, but you wouldn’t accept that.

You dragged him up to your room, demanded he sit on your bed, and you grabbed the first aid kit from your nightstand. He couldn’t quite tell if you were angry or just determined with that thin little crease forming on your forehead as you worked bringing a twist to his stomach. You didn’t say a word as you disinfected the open wounds on his hand or when he hissed at the alcohol on his skin. You didn’t warn him to be careful next time because you knew it would happen again. It was his job, after all.

Soft, careful touches as you wrapped his hand in gauze, offering him a sweet smile as you told him he was good as new like you actually believed that. It was one of the memories he held onto tightest. Just the ease with which you touched him, like he wasn’t made of broken fragments, like he was something whole. It was the first time he considered that you might be right.

Bucky stood and rounded the corner of your bed, pulling out the drawer of your nightstand. Sitting on top, just as he remembered, was the first aid kit. He pulled it from the drawer and set it on the bed, popping open the lid and grabbing the supplies he would need. He did his best to clean the mess on his hand, all the while knowing that you’d have done a better job because you always handled him with the kind of care he never gave himself.

After his hand was wrapped and the sting of the alcohol was fresh on his skin, he moved to set the kit back into the drawer when something caught his attention.

Carefully, he slipped his left hand into the drawer and pulled out a single polaroid. It took him a moment to recognize where it was from, but the moment he did, the memory came flooding back.

-

_Bucky always liked running; the feel of the air sweeping through his hair, the burn in his lungs, the sore ache of his legs. It let him focus on something other than the thoughts rummaging in his mind. It gave him an opportunity to just… be._

_You were on his left, a slight pant in your breath, and Bucky was cautious to take note of when it sounded like you were struggling to hold the pace for his sake and he’d slow down enough that you wouldn’t notice and your breaths came in a little easier. Then, he’d speed up when he thought you were ready again._

_Seven miles around the property; the path twisting through the back field where the recruits did their field training, behind the lake, and through a section of the forest which helped to seclude the compound. It was a beautiful view, if Bucky was being honest. Upstate New York in the fall just as the leaves were turning colors, some crunching under his sneakers as he ran. The air was crisp in his lungs, cool on his skin._

_It had been a while since he felt so relaxed. You had a habit of bringing that out in him. It had become part of his routine, getting up in the morning and throwing on shorts and a crew neck, tying his sneakers at the kitchen table as he waited for you to emerge from your room; that genuine look of surprise that always seemed to morph into something like relief as you spotted him._

_Even after he warmed up a little, letting himself find his voice around you and reluctantly agreeing to follow you into the middle of Brooklyn, he still found himself incredibly nervous. It was foreign for him to feel such a way, like a heat could form in his cheeks if you asked him the right question and the sweat that lined in his right hand as you stood close to him without thinking much of it._

_You were starting to breath too hard beside him, face burning red and sweat dripping down from your hairline, and Bucky slowly pulled to a stop. There was only a half mile back to the main building from here, and he figured you could use a cool down to stretch your muscles anyway._

_You paused, leaning over and resting your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. You stole a quick glance up at Bucky, who was only watching you carefully. His heartrate was hardly elevated, hair dry and hanging by his shoulders, breaths even._

_“You’re insufferable. You know that?” you teased with a growing smile, wiping your forearm across your hairline and shaking the excess sweat out into the grass. “Why even bother coming on these runs with me if they clearly do nothing for you?”_

_“I never said they did nothing for me,” Bucky replied softly, eyes squinting from the sun as he looked back up at the compound._

_These runs may not challenge him physically, but they still had purpose. It got him out of his room and dressed in the morning. It got him using his body again for something other than destruction and survival. It got him pumping the blood back into his veins and out into the fresh air, something Steve had been trying to accomplish with him unsuccessfully in the month before he met you. It got him more time with you._

_These runs were something Bucky looked forward to. It had been a while since he had something like that._

_You narrowed your eyes on him, a purse of your lips as you studied him for a tell you wouldn’t find. A short laugh as you shook your head and exhaled, “ok fine! Run at a mortal’s pace then, super soldier.”_

_Bucky chuckled under his breath as you started to walk back along the path, watching as you shot him a teasing smirk over your shoulder and he jogged a few paces to catch up to you. He always felt better by your side, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it._

_It was a slow walk up to the back entrance, with you stretching your arms behind you until they cracked, pulling a wince out of Bucky you found to be rather hilarious. You complained about your sore muscles and teased Bucky about his unfair advantage, all while tossing him those smiles that made his stomach weak._

_He pushed a few steps ahead to grab the door for you as you walked back inside, giving him a casual salute as you passed by, causing him to chuckle softly._

_“So, what are your plans this morning?” you asked off-handedly, like you genuinely believed he might have something on his schedule other than secluding himself to his room. You grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen and tossed one to him over the counter. He caught it easily in his left hand._

_“Super busy,” Bucky shrugged as he twisted off the cap. “Thought I’d head back into the city and walk around for a while. Maybe see if Sam wanted to meet me at one of those coffee joints with cats hanging around and buy a novelty shirt from Times Square.”_

_“Wow, Buck, that’s–” you started, a little taken back and surprised at his answer. Though, when Bucky tried to suppress a laugh as he took a swig from the water bottle, you pouted, putting your hands on your hips. “You’re not going to the city.”_

_“No, I’m not,” Bucky confirmed with a slight shake in his head. “I’m a little shocked you thought I’d go anywhere with birdbrain, let alone back into the city.”_

_“Oh, it’s not entirely unrealistic! You had a good time when we went to Brooklyn last month, didn’t you?”_

_Bucky nodded, “yeah, but I was with you, wasn’t I? Different situation entirely.”_

_“Is it?” you asked curiously, the teasing nature absent from your voice and Bucky realized the implications of what he said. You were watching him too carefully, with a hopefulness behind your eyes that caught Bucky entirely off guard._

_“Oh, well, I meant that, um,” Bucky stumbled over his words, his throat suddenly feeling dry, “I just… I don’t know… I’m more comfortable around you. I guess.”_

_Your lips slowly curved into the widest smile Bucky had ever seen, which was a feat within itself knowing you. “Yeah?”_

_“Yeah, think so,” Bucky replied with a nervous laugh and you punched the air like you had just crossed the finish line of a marathon. The anxiety faded away as he watched you grin at him, like you had been hoping for this all along. He let himself laugh._

_“Good! Well that means you’re free then,” you quipped, rushing from behind the counter and grabbing a hold of the wrist on his left hand, like it wasn’t made of metal, like it wasn’t something lethal, and tugged him towards your room. “Come on! I’ve got something I wanna show you.”_

_Bucky couldn’t help the smile pressing up on his cheeks as he followed you down the hall, your delicate fingers still wrapped around metal. He found himself fixated on it, so perplexed how you could touch this piece of him so casually, like it wasn’t something to fear, something to be disgusted by._

_You pushed open the door to your room and shoved him teasingly to sit on the flood at the end of your bed. He watched as you raced around the room, grabbing a few books off the shelves and your laptop from the desk. You took a seat next to him, folding your legs under you and your shoulder brushed his._

_“Prepare to get educated, Barnes.”_

_You showed him a few of the books he recognized from the trip to Brooklyn, ones you purchased after you had insisted he catch up on what he had missed. After careful consideration, you placed two of the five books on his lap, explaining the synopses and instructed him to pick one. He had just finished To Kill a Mockingbird, his first choice on the list you gave him. Of the two you laid out for him, he chose Fahrenheit 451. You, of course, got a kick out of that because it was Steve’s favorite on the list you had provided when you first met him as well._

_Bucky couldn’t help the pang of jealousy at the thought of anyone else sharing these kinds of moments with you, curled up one the floor by your bed, rustling through old books, as you typed away on your laptop. Though, with the way you were stealing glances at him every few minutes, lip caught between your teeth as you typed away, it was easy to forget about anything but you and this moment._

_"What are you doing?” Bucky asked as he glanced over the back cover of the book, flipping through the worn pages._

_“Making you a playlist,” you replied, eyes still glued to your screen as you clicked and dragged songs over into a folder on the left side. “Your education doesn’t stop with books, Bucky! I’ve got a whole plan here. Music. Movies. Television. Food. Theater. Tourist traps.”_

_“Of course,” Bucky laughed, the very idea of spending more time with you like this making his stomach pleasantly weak. You grinned back at him and set the laptop in the space between you, clicking play on the first song of the playlist. Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re done already?”_

_“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” you shrugged and Bucky’s lips curved up into a smile, wondering when you had decided to put the first song on the list and what moments made you think of him, what melodies or lyrics reminded you of him enough to put them together in a playlist. You shoved his shoulder, pointing to the laptop.[“Listen!”](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Fplaylist%2F1szUVDh0lZX0Ta5tVbvPUY%3Fsi%3DIkXZu021R-uxz80BnipxuA&t=NzU0YzljYmQyMzMxOWM5ZGNlYzMyMWFkNzEwZDZjMThkNWUwNzAyOSxVaUVMTUpQZA%3D%3D&b=t%3AajfEtkD74ZzgwdSgjg-gtw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwkemeup.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F187743413792%2Fguiding-light-5&m=1)_

_Bucky pressed his lips together, nodding as he stilled himself. The soft strum of the guitar filled the room, accompanied by what sounded like an old grainy texture he’d find on tracks from his time, only this sounded more like waves coming in along a beach. Then, a man’s voice came through the static and the acoustic strumming, soft, comforting, joined by the delicate pulsing rhythm of a tambourine._

**‘Been traveling these wide roads for so long.**

**My heart’s been far from you**

**Ten-thousand miles gone’**

_Bucky sat back against the frame of your bed, letting the soft tones of the music relax in his muscles and carry away the thoughts in his head. He listened as the harmonies sang over the chorus, the familiar sound, the new sound, the somewhere in between, until it eventually slowed and a woman’s voice came through, lulling Bucky into a calm he could only drop his guard to find next to you._

_The voices began to fade and tambourine chimed one last time, and you reached out and pressed pause before the next song could play, carefully looking to him for his reaction. Bucky didn’t know how you had come to learn him so well in the few months since he met you, how you had managed to get him to open up, even if in small careful steps, how you could possibly find a song that reminded him so much of his youth but ushered in a new era at the same time._

_It was perfect. It was his new favorite song. He wanted to hear it twenty times over as long as you’d sit next to him._

_“Do you like it?” you asked nervously, glancing back at the screen. “There’s others, too. I just thought, maybe you’d–”_

_“Play again, will ya?” Bucky interjected, smiling at you softly, enough for you to return it eagerly as a relief relaxed over your features. You nodded and restarted the song. The strum of the guitar filled the room again._

_Bucky didn’t even notice you pull a camera from under your bed as he listened to the calming melodies of the song. You scooted an inch or so closer to him, enough that your hip touched his and Bucky sucked in a careful breath. You held the camera out at the end of your arm, lens facing you._

_“Smile, Buck,” you requested, nodding to the camera when he shot you a confused look._

_Bucky watched as you turned back to the camera, smiling as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He couldn’t imagine how easily it was for you to be so close to him, to want to be, after all that he’d done. You treated him with a kindness he never thought he’d see again. He decided he’d do just about anything you asked of him._

_So, he took a deep breath, turning to the lens and allowing the smallest of smiles to curve on the edges of his lips, his head tilting until it rested on the crown of your head, soft waves under the subtle of his jaw._

_The flash clicked and a square film printed out from the bottom of the camera. You pulled it out carefully and blew it on delicately. It was dark and Bucky could hardly tell if he was even in the image or not._

_“It’ll develop, don’t worry,” you said with a wink. “In the meantime, I’ve got more songs for you. Get ready to be blown away.”_

_Bucky chuckled, settling in for the rest of the day if you wanted, resting his back on your bed and playing with the fibers of the carpet under his palm. Your thigh was still pressed up to his and you made no effort to move away. Bucky found he didn’t mind at all._

_-_

Three years later and you kept it all this time.

Bucky held the polaroid in his hand, gripped so tightly between his fingers it startled to crinkle in the corner. The curve of your smile, the lines by your eyes as you grinned for the camera, curling up against him. An innocence in his own eyes he hardly even recognized.

You changed him, pulled him from the darkness, helped him find his own footing to step into the light.

Bucky pressed the photo to his chest, tears welling in his eyes as a lump choked in the back of his throat. He didn’t know if he could survive without you, without his light.

He didn’t know if he wanted to.


	6. Six

You laid on your stomach upon the hard lumps and broken springs of the mattress, the weight of your body heavy, impossibly aching, and somehow feathery light at the same time; like your body was not your own, like you were just barely inhabiting your own skin covered in bruising and dried blood caked into your hair, bones protruding where thick muscle once sat. Unrecognizable.

Lids heavy, you dragged your arm up to the corner of the ground under the mattress, shifting slightly and taking up all of your energy to do so. A few scratches in a single line amongst forty-seven marks of the same; tiny white lines along concrete.

Forty-eight days in Hydra’s captivity. 

“How you doing over there, Y/n?” Danny’s voice called carefully through the wall.

You closed your eyes, turning your head to face the wall, staring at the crack that allowed you an ounce of sanity in your imprisonment. Your fingertips reached out and brushed the line in the wall. Tiny rocks fell from the fracture, sharp edges scratching at your skin.

“M’okay,” you replied, though the rough tone of your voice betrayed you.

You could still feel the worn muscles and aching joints from where Cain had beat you senseless for the sake of the camera a few days prior. He had yet to explicitly tell you what your purpose was in Hydra or why they bothered keeping you alive at all, but you could tell they were ramping up to their endgame soon. Whatever it was, had to do with Bucky.

You suspected it from the beginning. They were too quick to taunt him in your face and he had become the main subject of your interrogations as of late. You had handled the videos up to this point as best as you could. It was what you were trained for, but the moment you saw Bucky’s name listed upon the cue card, you broke.

You had outright refused to say his name aloud in such a place and Cain, in his unending frustration with you, had cut off your air supply with the grip of his hand until you lost consciousness. He only released long enough for you to come back to, and then he’d close his gasp again. He did that four times before he relented.

So, despite the tears in your eyes, the awful break in your voice, and the sickening guilt in your stomach, you spoke his name at the demands of the same nature of men who had tortured and mutilated Bucky Barnes until he resembled something outside of himself.

You spoke his name and you told him he was at fault just before Cain nearly beat you to death for the second time.

When you regained consciousness hours later, you couldn’t stop crying. Heaving and desperate to catch your breath, just to picture his face as you spoke those words, words you had so carefully worked to convince him of otherwise in the three years since you’d known him. Those words were never supposed to come from your mouth, never should have parted your lips, echoed in your voice. They were lies; vicious and cruel because you knew that Bucky would latch onto them and take any excuse to give into the dormant fears in the back of his mind that constantly wondered if he really was to blame for all the bad in the world.

You had so vigilantly kept your mind away from Bucky since you’d been here, focusing only on old memories, on his smile and the blue in his eyes, on something warm and kind you could hold onto, but then suddenly, all you could think about was what he was doing without you, if he’d retreated so far into himself he resembled the withdrawn, self-loathing man you first met in the kitchen before sunrise drinking coffee or if it was worse than that, if he dove back into missions and reckless behaviors and gave into the empty part of himself he reserved for the soldier.

You weren’t sure which was worse, but having to think of him being anything other than the incredibly kind, gentle, wonderful man you knew tore at your heart in ways you couldn’t explain. You didn’t want to think that you could hold that kind of power, that being ripped from his life would alter him in such a way. His recovery was too important for that. And yet, if you let yourself think of it, if it had been Bucky that was taken forty-eight days ago and you were the one left behind, you knew with certainty that your world would have come crashing down. It has.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Danny asked as a tear slipped over the bridge of your nose, bringing you out of your thoughts. You brushed it away, glancing through the small hole in the wall. Danny had been working on making it bigger, just enough so to slip a few spare bites of food to you in the days Cain ordered the agents to withhold your food as punishment.

It wasn’t large enough to catch a real glimpse of the kid in the cell beside you, but the most you could gather was the orange waves of his hair having grown from the buzzcut over the month since he arrived. Soft freckles on his paled skin and the tan camouflage pants of his military uniform.

“Don’t know,” you replied honestly. Your body had stopped growling for food weeks ago. The pangs turning into numb aches that never quite seemed to go away. Danny didn’t say a word as he pushed a bite of bread throw the wall and it dropped to the concrete by your mattress.

“Danny, don’t,” you urged, though your fingers brushed over the bread, your mouth already watering as you touched the spongey surface. “You need to eat, too.”

“They feed me on a daily basis, Y/n,” he countered, pushing through another piece. “I can afford to share with you. Please, eat.”

You brought the first bite to your mouth and swallowed it before you could even taste the stale texturing. It brought relief for a brief moment, though not nearly long enough, and you picked up the second piece.

Danny let out a groan as he attempted to push another piece of breath through the wall for you, a side effect of the beating he took shortly after yours. He estimated he had a few bruised ribs and some swelling around his eye, but insisted he was unharmed, better off than what they did to you, he would say.

You still didn’t know why they took Danny in the first place or why they were keeping him alive. This young, inexperienced soldier who was too kind and too naïve to second guess breaking protocol to help a stranger start their car. It didn’t make sense. He had no information he could give, no secrets he could expose. He was just some kid.

You mumbled a thank you as Danny took a steady breath, ripping the bread into pieces.

“You’re the Avenger here, you know,” Danny chimed in light-heartedly as another bite landed into your outstretched hand and you smiled through your cracked lips, “you need to get your strength anywhere you can grab it so you’re ready for when your team comes for you.”

As easily as it came, your lips fell back to a straight line. You swallowed back the last bite he was able to offer you.

You spent the rest of the day curled up on the mattress, trying to find sleep despite the horrible aches in your body and the likely concussions you had sustained. You were still waking up after you fell asleep, so that was a decent sign at least.

The only good thing about filming those awful videos was the fact that Cain and his men left you alone for a few days. Even if it meant no food, it also meant no torture, no questions you’d refuse to answer, no nails pulled from your skin, no knives carving into you or fists barreling against your bones. It meant peace, if only for a little while.

“Hey Y/n?”

“Yeah, kid?”

Danny paused before he spoke again, a nervous shift as he turned on the squeak of his mattress. “Will you tell me about the Avengers? What they’re really like?”

You turned so your back fell against the mattress, a wash of relief over your muscles. Staring up at the ceiling, you studied the water stains and fractures in the tiling as you considered his question.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” Danny quickly retracted. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No. No, it’s okay,” you sighed, the soft semblance of a smile aching over your lips as you tried to find comfort upon the mattress. You had tried to keep your friends away from this room for so long, that the thought of having them with you, in memory, in spirit, in conversation, brought a kind of warmth to your chest you hadn’t experienced in a long time. “Who do you want to know about?”

First, he asked about Steve, which made sense as Danny had enlisted young without any other prospects. It didn’t surprise you that he idolized the man who went from the small, scrawny kid to a decorated war hero. What did surprise you was that Danny was more interested in who Steve Rogers was than Captain America.

So, you told him the story of when you first met Steve; how he was shyer than you would have expected and had a serious aversion to following rules. He was reckless for the right reasons and passionate for what he believed in. You told him about how Steve volunteers with Sam at the VA and helps facilitate support groups for veterans with PTSD.

Danny listened intently as you talked, asking questions here and there. He was still so young and full of the kind of awe you’d see on the streets of New York when you’d race through the city on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle as Tony and Sam flew above the crowd, chasing behind Steve as he ran at exceptional pace. It was the kind of genuine excitement of a generation who grew up with superheroes in their backyards.

Then, you told him about Tony, how he was far kinder than the media gave him credit for. You told him that he was a good man under all that sarcasm and wit and about how he routes his charity donations through international banks just to take measures to keep it anonymous. You told him about the lavish parties he throws to raise money or help improve the Avenger’s public image and how he somehow became known as the modern day Gadsby, which he had explicitly states he resents.

He asked about Natasha with a slight tremor in his voice, like he was almost fearful of even saying her name, but you told him she was witty and compassionate and fearless unlike anyone else you knew. You told him she was your closest friend and that she had spent countless hours of her own free time to train with you when you first joined the team. You told him that she always wore socks around the compound, even on the hottest summer days, and made the best homemade bread you’d ever had in your life.

You told him about Sam, who was always your main source of laughter, who had a comeback for just about everything and the heart of someone twice his size. You told him about the time Sam once drove five hours just to get a specific type of chocolate from his childhood in the days after you came home from a mission that had more casualties than anyone had expected, hoping the sweets would bring back even an ounce of your smile.

Danny was enthralled the entire time, so eager to learn more and asking the kinds of questions you’d only get from someone who genuinely cared, who spent most of their life looking up to superheroes and wanting to embody them as he got older.

He asked about what it was like living at the compound, if superheroes ordered pizza, what kind of shows secret agents watch on Netflix, and what you did when you weren’t on missions. He got you laughing enough to forget about the pain in your body and the warmth of the memories allowed you a brief distraction from horrors of the room you laid in.

“They sound awesome,” Danny exhaled with a laugh and you could only picture the grin that spread over his lips, cheeks aching from smiling for so long.

“Yeah, they kinda are,” you chuckled, surprised to find you had been smiling too. Even through cracked lips and discolored bruising on your jawline, a smile still found its way back to you. How it was possible this kid was able to bring that out in you, you didn’t know.

“What about, um,” Danny started with a nervous tick in his voice, “what about Sergeant Barnes? You haven’t mentioned him…”

You clenched your jaw as you focused on the watermark on the ceiling above you, suddenly a dry ache burning in your chest that wiped away your smile.

“I know the papers talk a lot of crap about him,” Danny went on to say, “but I don’t believe that garbage. He served his country, spent decades as a prisoner of war for it, and this is the way we treat him when he comes home? It’s bullshit. He’s a veteran who got dealt a shitty hand and he shouldn’t be treated like an enemy. All these assholes talk a big game but if it came down to it, none of them would have been able to survive what they put Sergeant Barnes through, let alone resist all the brainwashing Hydra forced on him. They’re all a bunch of cowards. He’s a hero if you ask me.”

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. It wasn’t often you came across someone who so adamantly and without persuasion believed in Bucky’s innocence. Sniffling back tears, you pressed your hand to the crack in the wall, like it was an extension of you, like maybe Danny could feel your appreciation through the barrier. The small glimpse of him you were able to see through the hole in the wall turned to you, a soft smile on his face as he pressed his hand to the crack.

You let your hand fall away, taking in a deep breath as Danny settled in against his own mattress.

“Bucky is the best man I know,” you said, the words flowing out easily, because they were true and because just being able to talk about Bucky, to have him with you like this, might have been the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “He still has a hard time accepting what Hydra did to him, what they made him do, but he’s come so far. The progress he’s made has been just… _amazing_ to watch. He’s so strong and he cares so much but he holds the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. I just wish the rest of the world could see him the way you do.”

“I’m sure they’ll get there,” Danny replied. “They just got to get to know him, right?”

“It’ll take time,” you chuckled softly, thinking back on fonder memories.

So, you told Danny about your first interactions with Bucky nearly three years ago; how he had sat at the kitchen table hunched over his coffee at the early hours of the morning, silent and brooding for weeks before he so much as spoke to you. You told him about the first time Bucky stuck around in the kitchen as you stretched before your run and how avoidance turned to tight lipped smiles, which turned to mumbled greetings until he stood dressed in running shorts and worked up the courage to ask to go with you.

“Takes a while for him to warm up then?” Danny chuckled.

“Didn’t let me carry a conversation with him until after a few days of running in complete silence,” you confirmed, smile brimming at your lips.

You told him about the day you dragged Bucky into Brooklyn and brought him to the bookshop where you purchased a series of novels on your catch-up list. The first one he read was To Kill A Mockingbird and he had latched onto the character of Scout, pulling you aside at every opportunity to talk about what she stood for and why she was so important as a character. He asked if you would help him find essays and articles about the author and what inspired her. It was the first time you had seen him excited, eager, like he had a kind of hopefulness and light in his eyes he was lacking.

You told Danny about the playlist you started for Bucky, how it had started out as records of music from the decades he missed and the best of your generation before it turned into something else. He learned he leaned towards the acoustic trends of the 70s and 80s in bands like Fleetwood Mac and artists Jim Croce, but he’d find himself asking about your favorite music, songs you’d put on when you need uplifting, songs that made you cry, songs that he’d relate to, and he’d ask if you’d put those on his playlist, too, even if you weren’t sure if he’d like it. He told you he’d love anything you did. You’d hear the playlist echo down the hall at all hours of the day.

You told him of your first mission with Bucky in Vienna, how you would have bled out in the combat zone if Bucky hadn’t carried you out of there. You told him that Bucky was incredibly brave and selfless behind all those layers of guilt he carried upon his shoulders. Even in the months he was suffocated by the shame of it all, before he was able to start swimming back to the surface, he was still impossibly kind for the cruelty he had experienced.

He found a way to step back into the light and you could only pray he hadn’t fallen back to the darkness.

“You really care about him, huh?” Danny sighed.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to picture Bucky’s face. Details were starting to fade away, like the two freckles in his forehead and the patterns of gold trimming on his left arm, and that was what scared you the most. But you could still picture the blue of his eyes, the soft wave in his hair, the smile that left crinkles along the side of his face, and that was what kept you from succumbing to Hydra’s torture, to their demands.

“I love him,” you exhaled as tears slipped from the corners of your eyes. You had only said the words aloud once, from behind the glass barrier that kept you from him on the day you were taken. Saying it now, so far away from the man who needed to hear it tore at your chest but it made it real. It reminded you that it happened, that you had loved someone so deserving and so beautiful and that it was worth it, even if it led you here. Even if you’d never get the chance to tell him again.

Danny didn’t say anything, but you could hear the gentle sounds of his breathing as he listening intently. His hands brushed over the crack in the wall, the shadow casting into your room, and you mustered a sad smile, knowing it was his way of letting you know he was still there, still listening.

You brushed your nose, sniffling back more tears. “I um, never had the courage to tell him until I realized Hydra was going to take me prisoner. Thought I might not ever get the chance again and I couldn’t let him go on thinking I didn’t love him, that he wasn’t worth it or didn’t deserve of something more, because I know he thought those things of himself.”

“Does he feel the same way?” Danny asked cautiously, sincerely.

“Don’t know for sure,” you shrugged, running your fingers under your eyes to wipe at the tears. “I think he might. It’s hard to believe he would so willing open up to me the way he did, trust me with his burdens and the horrors in his dreams if he didn’t, but I…” you let out a heavy sigh, one that crushed on the weight of your chest, “I don’t think I’ll ever know.”

“I don’t understand,” Danny paused, a soft shuffling as he adjusted on his side of the wall, “of course you’ll know. You can tell him again when he gets you out of this hell hole and I’ll knock sense into him myself if it’s not the first thing he says to you.”

You chuckled through the tears on your cheeks, biting at your lip to keep your voice from breaking. “I don’t know about that, Danny.”

“But you said they’d come for you,” he questioned and a lump burned in the back of your throat.

“I know,” you confessed, “but things don’t always work out the way they should. I know my team is doing everything they can to find me. I know _Bucky_ is doing everything he can but… people like me, in this job, we don’t always get happy endings. I’ve done more good than bad, saved more people than I’ve killed, than I’ve _lost,_ but… the universe doesn’t take that into account. We’re all the same in her eyes and she won’t favor me because of who my friends are or how much evil I’ve prevented.”

Danny took in a careful breath after a moment of consideration, and then, “you don’t think you’ll make it out of this, do you?”

You wiped your hand over your eyes, wet tracks on your skin.

You thought of Steve and Tony, who you were sure were tirelessly working around the clock and overworking their staff to track down leads they ultimately wouldn’t find. You thought of Sam and Natasha who would spend every waking hour in the gym if they weren’t out in the field because neither of them ever learned how to sit still when something was out of their control, how Sam would resort to his charm and wit to pull the rest of the team from their hopelessness and how Nat would put on a smile and pretend like she was handling it better than she was.

Then, with a broken heart, you thought of Bucky; of ocean eyes and warm smiles, of the smell of old bookshops in Brooklyn, and sitting at the floor of your bedroom listening to music and introducing him to new books. You thought of sitting at the kitchen counter at five in the morning and the bitter taste of black coffee. You thought of morning runs and sparring in the gym, of his laugh and the glances he’d steal in your direction.

You thought of the look on his face the last time you saw him, how he had promised he would find you, lips read through the glass barrier, and how wholeheartedly you had believed him.

But that was forty-eight days ago.

“I’m not sure anymore.”

***

Later that night, you found Bucky in your dreams. At the end of an impossibly long hallway, dark shadows in overcast shielding the lights, locked doors on either side as you sprinted towards him. He stood still, impossibly so, and the floor seemed to stretch under you as you ran. Your legs were too weak, pace too slow. He was getting further and further away despite the hot breath in your lungs and the ache of your legs.

You screamed for him, but your voice was gone, broken and raspy, coming out in only a whisper. He reached out for you but the darkness was pulling him in. It wrapped like tentacles around his wrists, his ankles, his neck, but you were gaining on him, just a step away and your fingertips brushed his in a sweet moment of relief until he was yanked back sharply from your grasp.

Into the darkness he fell and you tried to follow, but you couldn’t see. You felt around aimlessly but there was only the cruel mask of empty space around you. Heart beating painfully, sobs racing through your body, and you shouted his name. A broken, desperate plea, to be unanswered.

Suddenly, you were pulled from your sleep with the series of loud clicks at the door; locks unfastening quickly resulting in a sharp twist in your chest as your heart rate increased, a conditioned response even on the verge of consciousness.

“Rise and shine, princess!” Cain’s voice barreled into the cell as the door slammed open.

You groaned, pressing your face into the mattress as the influx of florescence filled the room. Even your nightmares were better than whatever Cain had in store for you. At least you saw Bucky in your dreams.

Harsh hands gripped onto your arms and yanked you from the mattress. You tried to walk, to carry yourself to the chair bolted to the center of the room, but these men wouldn’t allow you the dignity of that. They tossed your body around like a rag doll and threw you into the chair, quickly fastening the restraints.

They were cowards. If you were at your full strength you could have taken the pair of them down, and yet, even weakened and starved and beaten, they still felt the need to cuff you under metal sheets that punctures and burned at your raw skin, red and swollen.

You turned to Cain who was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and an obnoxious, smug smirk curved upon his thin lips.

“What do you want?” you rasped, voice still altered from the last time his hand was wrapped around your throat. He chuckled at that, whether it was your taunt or the state of your voice, you weren’t sure.

“You should watch your mouth,” Cain warned, “especially since I’ve come with news for you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Means your little boyfriend and your team of _insufferable idiots_ just captured one of our men,” Cain replied casually, though the hardened tone of his voice remained. He pushed himself from the wall and he began to pace around you. His hand touched your shoulder as he rounded your chair, fingers sliding up your neck, around your back, and down your left arm until he faced you again

You watched him carefully, chest panting a little harder, heart in your throat.

“Jennings is a seasoned agent and he will bide us time, but it won’t be enough,” Cain continued.

A dread settled in your stomach. “Enough for what?”

“The Avengers are getting too close,” Cain said, blatantly ignoring your question, “and we will have to resort to _drastic_ measures to get them off our tracks.” He looked to the door and Moira, the blonde woman behind the camera you had come to know, stepped through the door. Cain pressed a kiss to her cheek and she kept her eyes on you the entire time, like it was meant to be an affront. The video camera hung from her left hand.

“We’ve got a new video to shoot today,” Cain smirked, “ain’t that right, baby?”

Moira nodded. “Got something real special in store.”

They stepped aside and a new figure was shoved into the room, bound and restrained by agents, one that made your heart stop completely. It wasn’t possible, not as far as you knew and you knew pretty well from your trips to see Shuri with Bucky. This kind of technology was far beyond SHIELD’s capability and Wakanda hadn’t even breached the surface on this yet.

_It wasn’t possible._

Heart in your throat, your lips parted in shock, unable to process what you were seeing.

Cain smirked, amused by the panic coursing over you and he turned to Moira, black mask curling into his right hand.

“We go live in ten.”

***

Bucky’s breaths were heavy in his chest; calculated as he filled his lungs every few steps, legs burning as he raced down the busy streets of Manhattan. A silver Toyota Highlander weaved in and out of traffic fifty feet ahead, carrying inside a Hydra affiliated scientist who had been rumored to know where they were keeping you, had maybe even laid eyes on you in person within the last three weeks.

Jennings was the one to give the scientist’s name after days of interrogation: Anton Sokolov, a geneticist known for his work on those with enhanced abilities. Sokolov’s father was one of the men Bucky became familiar with in his years under Hydra’s rule. It appeared an affinity for experimenting on unwilling human subjects ran in the blood.

“I’ll cut them off on 42nd,” Steve’s voice echoed through the coms, accompanied by the roar of his motorcycle.

“Why the hell are they heading to Times Square?” Sam grunted from several hundred feet above Bucky’s head. Wings expanded as he dove through the sky, just ahead of Bucky, enough to keep a watchful eye on the SUV. “They’re not going to escape through there. What are they playing at?”

“Capture first, ask questions later, Wilson,” Nat said through the coms in her usual teasing tone. Wind captured in her mic as she held onto Steve’s back.

Bucky skirted out of the way of a cyclist passing through the intersection as he ran straight through a red light in effort to keep up with the SUV. He was gaining on the van, closing the gap the closer he got to Times Square, the heavy traffic of pedestrians increasing with every block. Only, Bucky wasn’t running any faster. If anything, he was losing energy from the sheer exhaustion of running after a car for nearly thirty-six blocks.

They were slowing down.

“Something’s up,” Bucky panted into his mic. “They’re leading us to a trap.”

“There’s nothing out ahead of you,” Tony reported. “I’m above 42nd and 7th. You’re clear.”

“Bucky’s right,” Steve said, the roar of his engine pulling to a halt. “If they were trying to run, they took a wrong turn about forty blocks ago. They planned this.”

“Guess we better be ready for anything,” Nat replied, a tone of excitement in her voice. She was always ready for something like this. Wasn’t trained for anything else.

“Here we go,” Tony sang as the SUV passed 41st street. From above, Bucky could spot the red and gold shimmer of the iron man suit suspending in the air as he aimed an open palm at the ground ahead of the van, shooting a single blast that took out the front two wheels.

Pedestrians were screaming, running away from the scene; tourists paused to pull out cameras and iPhones at the sight of the Avengers in action while native New Yorkers kept their heads down, headphones in as they continued their commute without interruption. 

Tires broke and tore from under the van, rubber flying out to the sides as a deafening screech rang through the streets. Electric sparks burst from under metal as it scrapped along the pavement until ultimately, the SUV skidded to a stop.

Tony and Sam touched down on either side as Bucky sprinted up to the side door, denting the frame as he crashed into it. He released a guttural scream and ripped the car door from its hinges, throwing it several feet down the street.

Inside, he was met with a man in a white button-down shirt, glasses, and a black tie, holding his arms out to the side in defense. The two men in the front seat were hunched over the dashboard, the blast from Tony’s suit rendering them unconscious as blood dripped down the side of their face from the impact.

“Soldat, it’s so wonderful to see you,” Sokolov smirked, thick Russian accent as he taunted the very man who carried vengeance in his veins. Bucky gripped the cold metal of his left hand around Sokolov’s collar and yanked him from his seat, tossing him into the street and he skidded along the pavement on his back.

Bucky pushed Sam aside and stalked towards the Hydra scientist until he stood above him. Sokolov laid on his back, making no effort to run away as Bucky slowly knelt above him, his right hand curling into a fist as he raised it, ready to strike.

“I’m done with these games,” he growled. “Tell me where Y/n is, _now_!”

“Buck, you’ve got an audience,” Steve said carefully, appearing just a few paces ahead of him. Bucky glanced up slowly, eyeing the crowd of people who had gathered on the sidewalks, standing at a careful distance though they held their cameras and phones out to capture the Avengers in action, to capture the Winter Soldier beat a man to death.

“Yes, Soldat,” Sokolov taunted, “don’t want to upset the balance of your public image any more than you already have. You’re already a monster in their eyes. Do you wish to prove them right?”

“Shut the hell up,” Bucky spat, clenching his metal fist around Sokolov’s shirt, his right arm shaking as he held it above his head, closed into a fist. He looked up at Steve, panting, sincerely trying to bring himself back from the brink of darkness but he couldn’t find the end of the tunnel, not without you. “He knows where Y/n is.”

“That’s right, I do.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, gaze snapping back to Sokolov, who seemed quite pleased with himself. Even Steve and Sam, who stood above him wore the shock evident upon their features. Nat and Tony who had been carefully controlling the crowd to keep them from coming closer froze as they heard it through the coms. It was one thing to hear it through rumors, but another for it to be confirmed.

“But you’re too late,” Sokolov finished, pursing his lips, satisfied with the way desolation quickly replaced the ounce of hope swimming in the blue of Bucky’s eyes. “You wasted too much time, Soldat. She cannot be saved.”

“You’re stalling,” Bucky sneered, glancing up to Steve for support and he mustered a short nod.

“I was with her just days ago,” Sokolov grinned through yellowed teeth and dried lips as Bucky’s heart dropped, his stomach twisting into painful knots. “You have not seen her the way I have. She is weak. _Pathetic._ You do not see how she cowers in fear, _how she cries out your name,_ begging for you to save her while we tear her apart!”

“No, you’re– _you’re lying_ ,” Bucky accused but his throat had run dry.

“Am I?” Sokolov jeered, a laugh on his tongue. “Do you really think so, Soldat? You think that she is strong enough to withstand what we did to you? You think she could survive the torture and the pain you remember so well? _You think we would even allow her to live!?_ ”

Bucky let out a scream and dove his fist to the side of Sokolov’s face, a deafening crack of cheek bones as his knuckles hit flesh. He couldn’t stop himself, tears in his eyes and weeks of desperation and hopelessness rushing to the surface, and he swung again and again until his fist was bloody and broken and Sokolov had stopped laughing, stopped smiling, stopped _taunting_ Bucky of the very nightmares he couldn’t remove from his head.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, his voice distant, fearful, looking elsewhere, but Bucky could hardly hear him over the ringing in his ears.

Sokolov had slumped over, his body limp; unconscious, though still alive. Bucky panted, sweat dripping from his brow onto the man’s white dress shirt now dampened in red. He fell back from his knees, muscles aching and tiny rocks of the pavement imbedded into his right hand.

“Buck,” Steve said again, an urgency laced through his name that made Bucky narrow his eyes up at his friend. Steve swallowed, glancing down at Bucky with a kind of horror he had never seen in his eyes. For the first time, Steve Rogers was speechless.

It was then Bucky noticed the crowds had silenced completely save for a few murmurs behind hands clasped over mouths. A pin drop could be heard in the middle of Manhattan, at the center of Times Square. Steve nodded up to the sky and hesitantly, Bucky followed his gaze.

There, upon every screen in Times Square, replacing each advertisement and billboard down 7th avenue, was _you_.

Bound and strapped to that same God forsaken chair, silver tape covering your mouth for the first time, and tears streaming down your cheeks. Your heavy, exasperated breaths could be heard echoing through the street, your eyes frantically searching for something Bucky couldn’t see. In the top right corner of the screen was a single red dot. He realized with a horrible pang in his stomach, that the video was being streamed _live_.

Bucky scrambled to his feet, rushing a few yards forward, though he had nowhere else to go, no way to reach you through the projection of the screens. He spun in a circle, catching every monitor you were visible on, surrounding him from all sides.

“ _People of New York_ ,” a voice called out, grainy and distorted, as a man in a black mask stepped into view of the camera. Hushed gasps came from the hordes of pedestrians watching in horror as the man grabbed a tight hold of your hair, enough for you to whimper. Bucky’s hands were shaking at his sides.

“ _Hydra has no demands. Only, a message to the Avengers_ ,” the man continued. He pulled a silver handgun from behind his back from the waistband of his jeans. Bucky’s heart was in his throat as the man dragged the barrel of the gun suggestively up the side of your arm, over your collarbone, along your cheek, until he settled it at the nape of your neck.

Your breaths were coming in too fast, panic in your eyes Bucky hadn’t even seen the day you were taken, a kind of helplessness that shook him straight to his core.

“ _You are nothing compared to the reach of Hydra_ ,” the man growled as he pressed the gun harder against your neck, forcing you to twist your head in search of relief. “ _These so-called heroes are weak,_ defenseless, _and they cannot save you. They are made up of war criminals, assassins, soviet spies, washed up army brats, and arrogant billionaires. They will turn on you. They will turn on each other. They. Are. NOTHING_.”

Bucky glanced back at his team, wide eyes fearful and powerless, his own voice lost to him.

Tony was cold faced, jaw clenched tightly as he watched the monitors. Sam knelt by the edge of the SUV, hands clasped over his knee, head bowed save for the moments he dared to look at the screens. Natasha was pacing back and forth relentlessly, hands curling and uncurling into fists by her sides, muttering under her breath as she glanced up at the projections, only to turn away as quickly because seeing you like that wasn’t something she ever thought she’d have to face. Steve stood just a few paces behind Bucky, watching him more than the monitors, his chest rising and falling at a speed that betrayed the calm nature of his expression.

There was nothing they could do. Entirely helpless but to watch.

“ _You will learn_ ,” the man stated, straightening his back as he took a step away from you, withdrawing the gun and Bucky sighed of relief, though it was impossibly short lived. “ _You will learn that your heroes are no better than us and that, above all else, they are…_ ** _mortal_** _._ ”

Bucky heard the gun fire before he saw it.

The worst of his nightmares paled in comparison to the fear that coursed through his veins, the paralyzing shock that ripped and tore at him in ways Hydra had never been able to when he was held under their fist; not even under the sharp edge of a scalpel, or the machine that obliterated his memories.

The sharp echo of the sound punctured straight through his heart and he stumbled backwards, breaths short, uneasy, excruciating; watching in horror as you slumped forward in the chair, blood spraying onto the wall, dripping down concrete in thick beads.

“N-no,” he gasped out, rushing forward, staring up at the screens as blood soaked through your hair, your body unmoving. His hands curled against his pants, his jacket, shaking violently, and he couldn’t breathe. His vision was closing in, too blurry from the wet tears burning in his eyes.

Upon the screens, the man gripped at your hair, yanking your face up to the camera and Bucky heard a wail from behind him; Natasha. Your features were slack, eyes staring off far beyond where he could see and clouded over in a cold, unforgiving stare.

“No!” Bucky cried out, his voice breaking in the effort and burning raw in his throat, “no, n-no, please… God, no…”

The man shoved the chair until it tilted on its side until you fell from frame. The man laughed, a cold sinister kind of sound that curled its way into Bucky’s chest and lit him aflame. He stepped towards the camera, close enough that Bucky could see the color of his left eye, green, and the scar that rendered his right useless.

“ _And you dare to worship the Avengers like Gods_ ,” the man sneered, his lips curving in a satisfied grin.

Bucky let out a scream and it echoed through the silence of the streets as he yanked the gun from its holster on his thigh and fired the entire clip into the closest billboard he could find. Bullet holes pierced the monitor, altering the image’s frame as it fragmented around it, shards of glass and plastic falling from the sky, and then it turned black. He felt no relief as he turned to the dozens of projections lining the streets, taunting him.

Then, the man stepped away from the camera and the video went dark.

Silence took over Times Square and Bucky stumbled on his feet; legs too weak to hold him. Muffled whimpers could be heard from the sidewalks, tearful cries as bystanders huddled together, holding one another, hundreds of pedestrians rendered witness to the murder – _the execution_ – of an Avenger.

Bucky heaved, desperate to catch his breath, but he was too light headed, darkness tunneling in his vision and he fell to his knees. Rocks in the pavement punctured his skin through the layer of his pants but he couldn’t feel much of anything. Hands grasping at the fabric of his suit, trembling violently as a sob racked through his body, enough for it to echo amongst the silence.

A pain so indescribable burned and festered in his chest, unable to find a release, he pushed it from his body in a cry so heartbreaking, it cracked his voice, tears streaming down his face; no energy to care about the hundreds of onlookers.

He’d been subjected to so much evil in his life, so much hatred and cruelty, and you had been the good to come out of it. The one thing that led him through the darkest parts of his mind to the end of the tunnel where the warmth of light touched his skin again. You held him and encouraged him and helped him find his own footing so they he could walk there himself, towards the light he so desperately craved.

But that light had extinguished. Smothered and suffocated.

It died with you, leaving Bucky surrounded by the cold arms of darkness.

Alone.


	7. Seven

It was unlike anything you could have imagined, even in the worst of your nightmares. The scar upon your forehead from an accident as a child, the identical wounds and swelling you’d sustained in your captivity, the flicker of a softer hue in your irises as the light touched it, the delicate fall of your hair, the curve of your nose. The clothing you had been held in for weeks, the same tear in the top right shoulder, the dirt smudged over your skin.

It was you. Entirely and completely you.

Except that it wasn’t.

The woman, wearing your face, laid upon the ground, still bound and restrained to the chair though her body slumped toward the concrete, lifeless. Her eyes open, unseeing, as a deep red pool surrounded her head from where the bullet had torn through the cavity, blood expanding along the floor and nestling into the cracks of the concrete.

“Freaky, ain’t it?” Cain chuckled, nudging the woman’s body with the toe of his boot, only for her to slump back into place.

You stared up at him, wide eyes, shock paralyzing your ability to speak.

“She’s enhanced,” Cain explained, an amused smirk upon his features. “Shapeshifter. Watch this.”

With the end of his gun, he prodded at a spot behind the woman’s ear, _your_ ear, as the woman’s skin rippled over in scales, like cards bridging in a deck, replaced by an entirely new body. Skin and hair that was not your own, eyes staring far beyond the wall a different hue, scars and wounds that covered her face and arms now clean and replaced with small nicks and scratches of her own.

“Been holding onto this one for a special occasion,” Cain goaded, “so consider yourself _special_ , princess.”

“You’re sick,” you spat, unable to tear your watering eyes away from the body of the woman at your feet. You tugged at the men holding you back. Strong, unforgiving arms wrapped around you; your body too weakened to do any damage. “You murdered this woman for _what?_ To prove a point? That—That the Avengers are _human_?”

“To keep your _fucking brainwashed boyfriend_ from finding you before we’ve completed what we have planned!” Cain bellowed, rushing at you in one fowl swoop and pressing the barrel of the gun under your chin. The metal was hot on your skin as he pushed it against you enough for you to stretch your neck higher, searching for a relief from the pressure. You struggled to swallow.

“Now, we can get to work in peace without the Avengers breathing down our necks,” Cain barked in your face, split flying onto your cheek and forcing you to wince. He stepped away and let the gun fall from your neck. You coughed to find the air the barrel had suffocated from you and shot him a glare. Cain only seemed to smile wider at that, amused by your pain. “Not going to keep searching for a dead body, now are they?”

You sucked in a harsh breath and the men dropped you from their grasp. Too weak to stand on your own, you hunched over on the floor, eyes darting over at the body of the woman lying just a few feet away.

Cain snapped his fingers and one of the men grabbed a harsh grip of the woman’s arm, hulling her into the air and tossing her body over his shoulders. It was too rough, too cruel for the way he carried her and you parted your lips to say something, but bit down on your cheek. This woman who was killed wearing your body was just that… _dead._

She didn’t know the humiliation or the desecration with which these men handled her body. She didn’t know the pain of being hulled over a man’s shoulder with little remorse. She didn’t know anything. She was dead, as you imagined you soon would be as well. 

You crawled over to the mattress at the corner of the room as the door slammed shut, trapping you with the pool of blood staining into the concrete. Body slumping onto the hardened surface, stray springs poking at your skin, and despite Danny’s whispered calls of your name, the urgency and worry in his voice, you closed your eyes and cried until sleep was merciful enough to pull you under.

***

Familiar clicks startled you from your rest just hours later as Cain pushed his way back into your cell, rolling along with him a television from the early 2000’s strapped to a tall, plastic cart. He shot a wink at you as you turned sheepishly upon the mattress to face him, too weakened to goad him or even warp your face into a glare. He was alone, without his lackeys, which was unusual for his daily visits.

“Got something fun to show ya,” he taunted as he pressed a single click to the television. “Hope you enjoy, princess.”

Without another word, he retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.

You swallowed, the bile painful in your throat as you starred over at the television as it warmed up, the picture on the screen slowly fading from a dark black to reveal the picture beneath.

“What was that about?” Danny asked cautiously through the wall.

“Not sure yet,” you mumbled back, pushing yourself to your feet despite the aching cries in your muscles.

Upon the screen, a blonde woman came into view, wearing a navy blue blazer as she handled a stack of papers in her hand, tapping the edge of a pen on the desk she sat behind.

“ _It has been five hours since footage airing the assassination of renowned Avenger Agent Y/n Y/l/n of SHIELD was streamed live to every screen in Times Square,_ ” the woman reported and an image of your headshot from your early days in the academy appeared on the top left corner of the screen. With a bright smile, skin free of oozing scars, and a light behind your eyes, you hardly recognized yourself.

“ _This comes following almost two months held as a prisoner in Hydra’s captivity. While the Avengers have been tirelessly searching to rescue their fallen teammate, it appears all roads have led to this fateful moment.”_

You heard Danny curse under his breath, having heard the reporter through the speakers. The woman pressed her lips into a thin line, a heavy breath exhaled before she spoke again.

“ _We have obtained footage from the scene in Times Square where the Avengers were subjected to watch Agent Y/l/n’s murder live in real time, along with the civilian population.”_

The screen filtered away from the newsroom to show a young man and woman standing in the middle of Times Square, posing in front of the series of colorful billboards, holding up a peace sign with wide smiles brimming on their cheeks. The film was in a vertical angle, with thick black bars filling the rest of the screen, filmed on a phone’s camera.

“ _Oh, my bad… it’s a video,_ ” a voice chuckled nervously from behind the phone to which the subjects of the intended photo rolled their eyes and began to laugh along with him.

Then, over the man’s shoulder a silver van shot into frame, electric sparks flying from metal scraping the concrete, tires long gone. A horrible screeching sound had the couple pressing their palms to their ears. It crashed into a parked car and drew the attention of every pedestrian within the frame.

“ _Holy crap is that the Avengers!?_ ” the voice shouted, zooming the camera in on Tony as he flew above the van in his Iron Man suit. The camera followed Sam as he touched down on the other end of the van, winds folding into his suit.

It was strange, to watch your friends from the point of view of civilians. It had a certain kind of theatric to it and you understood why the people adorned your friends as heroes.

Heart in your throat, you collapsed into the chair used to torture you as Bucky suddenly came into view, sprinting towards the SUV, not stopping until he ripped the door from its hinges and tossed it several yards down the street. The man recording the film was shouting, cheering him on, as the lens flashed to his friends’ excited faces.

The camera zoomed in closer as Bucky dragged someone from inside the van. Too far away to hear what they were saying, but Steve walked into the frame, shoulders stiff enough for you to recognize that he was advising Bucky to stand down, carefully reaching for his friend’s shoulder, only to be shrugged away.

Hair shielding his face, Bucky began to beat the man until blood splattered over his hands. The recorder of the video only egged him on, like he was watching some kind of fight in the halls of a high school. He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.

You heart was in your stomach.

“ _Oh– Oh my God. M-Miles, look!_ ” the young woman to the recorder’s left gasped, the lens now aimed at the dozens of screens lining the street with your face, _the shapeshifter’s face,_ upon it.

You pressed your hand to your chest in an attempt to ease the race of your heart, but it did nothing to aid you. The film followed Bucky as he rushed forward and you could see how violently his hands were shaking, even at this distance. A lump in the back of your throat and tears welled in your eyes, watching as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the hundreds of screens surrounding him.

The blonde woman appeared back behind the news desk, a solemn look upon her face. “ _We have cut the video as it displays the violent and graphic image of Agent Y/l/n’s death. The recording will pick up again after the Hydra stream cuts out._ ”

As she stated, the feed cut straight back to Times Square, only this time you could make out the faint sound of people crying in the streets, the couple who had posed for the picture just moments ago, now huddled together, reaching for their friend behind the camera. He shook them off, aiming the lens back at Bucky as he was lowering a gun that had been aimed at one of the screens.

The video was shaking, the hand of the teenager capturing it trembling, as Bucky stumbled on his feet, grasping at his chest before he collapsed to his knees. The scream that fell from his lips shook you to your core, goosebumps trailing over your skin, and a puncture so sharp in your chest, you wondered if you would survive it. Your hand pressed against your lips to keep the sob from escaping you as tears blurred your vision, a lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

The camera panned to the rest of your team, _your family_. Tony was punching holes into the silver SUV before he took off into the sky. Natasha was hulled against Steve’s chest, her shoulders shaking as Steve ran his large hands down her back, nervous glances back in Bucky’s direction. Sam was kneeling just a few feet away, head bowed, like he was praying.

Slowly, the camera returned to Bucky and his hands were horribly shaking, trying to grab onto fabric, something, anything, to ground himself how you taught him but nothing was working. His whole body shook.

You pushed yourself from the chair, wobbling legs carrying you to the television and you skimmed your fingers over the static of the screen, touching the pixelized image of Bucky as if it could reach him in some way, as if it could tell him that you were alive, but it was useless. A suppressed cry hitched at your breath and you wrapped your arms around your chest.

“ _Memorial services are being arranged all over the country to honor the fallen Avenger_ ,” the reporter stated soberly as the image of Bucky faded away. “ _For more information, please visit our website at—"_

The screen went black and you fell back into the chair. The first time you saw Bucky in nearly two months, just the blurry outline of his figure in the distance, the movements seen from fifty feet away, and it was worse than you could have imagined.

You’d never heard his voice like that before, not even when he woke up screaming in the dead of night with the horrors of his part flashing through his dreams in twisted memories.

This, was something else entirely; the crack of his voice, the desolation, the _hopelessness,_ the worst of his fears coming true in front of his eyes, on display for the entire world to see, and he had no way of knowing it was a trick. A horrible, cruel illusion by Hydra to persuade the Avengers to stand down, to keep them from finding you as Cain put whatever his plan was into action.

They had proof that you were dead, watched the bullet tear through your skull on live television. They had no reason to believe it was orchestrated. If you had any doubts your family would find you, this newsreel only confirmed it.

You were never going to see the outside of this cell again.

***

Days later, as Cain continued to come for you each morning with a tray of knifes at his disposal, he was displeased to find you hadn’t submitted to him completely.

While you had lost your hope, you still held onto your anger with every ounce of your will. Anger for what they did to you, what they’ve done to Danny, for murdering that woman for no reason other than theatrics, for putting Bucky and your team through hell and subjecting them to a trauma they would never recover from.

Anger that festered and burned aflame each time Cain walked into the room and it only urged him on as he ripped and tore at your flesh until he chipped at the very edge of your sanity.

Soon, Cain grew tired of your unwillingness to submit and he began to bring you to a different room, one that you had only heard stories about, described through panicked breaths in the dead of night from the man who was all too familiar with the horrors that lied inside.

The room was dark, and cold, and surrounded by lab equipment and monitors. The unsettling high-pitched beeping of machines as they ran through their intended algorithm. Men and women in white lab coats stared at you with intrigue, dehumanizing you to your very core.

You fought them every time they led you to the chair, knowing what it would do to you, to your free will, but your body was weaker than your mind and they strapped you down with ease. Metal clamps snapped over your wrists and a lab tech shoved a mouth guard between your teeth as the machine roared to life, electric sparks jumping from the ends of paddles they soon would affix to the side of your face.

A scientist by the name of Dmitry Petrov hovered over you as he tapped at the edge of his clipboard, observing intently before they brought the paddles down to you. You had spat the mouth guard out at him as he dared to touch the side of your face, studying the wounds you had sustained from your time with Cain.

“You should learn some respect, princess,” Cain seethed from the side of the room, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, watching.

“You’re a fool if you think you can restart the winter soldier program and get away with it,” you shot back, voice cold, unattached, like you had become.

Cain laughed at that, shaking his head as he exchanged amused glances with the men in the room. “Seems like you’ve missed the point, princess. We’re not making an army. We don’t need a whole team of soldiers to accomplish our task. Just you and _you will_ serve your purpose.”

You gritted your teeth. “Which is what exactly?”

“Not your concern,” Cain smirked and Petrov shoved the guard back into your mouth. He pulled a lever and in one shift motion, the machine clamped down on the side of your face, electricity pulsing through you, singeing your skin, your hair, and with a pain so unimaginable, you blacked out after your voice had gone hoarse from screaming.

***

Nearly two weeks following your supposed execution on live broadcast, you were dragged back to the room with the machine on a daily basis. You tried to keep Danny in the dark about what they were doing to you because you didn’t want to scare him, make him question if there would be a day you didn’t come back to the cell, because each day you wondered it yourself; if today would be the day the machine fried your brain or rendered you permanently unconscious.

On the third week of the machine, Cain shoved you back into the chair with a grunt and though you tried to fight him, he clasped the restraints around your boney wrists.

“You need to start feeding her better,” Petrov commented, examining the bones protruding from your chest. The way his eyes trailed over your body made your stomach twist; clinical, unkind, and with a disgust that made you sink into yourself. He turned to Cain. “If she is to do what she is meant for, she will need her full strength.”

Cain rolled his eyes, thought he eventually relented.

***

It was the fourth week of being hulled into that room when they attempted to use the trigger words for the first time.

They were unfamiliar to you, words that were not a part of Bucky’s list, and in a language you didn’t understand, but eventually as they paired each shock of the machine with the words in a small, red book, Petrov explained that they must carry personal meaning for it to be effective.

You decided that the translation of the words didn’t matter, not with the electricity coursing in your veins and pain so excruciating you relished the moments your body gave out, lulling you to the safety of your unconscious and the cool blanket of darkness.

Petrov was infuriated each time you blacked out, like it was an affront to him in some way. He’d start the process over again after they injected you with some kind of serum that swept through your veins like fire. Your body didn’t allow you your sanctuary after that.

“Tell her what the triggers mean, doc,” Cain taunted one day from the side of the room. He sat upon the edge of the counter, gripping at the lip. He wore that same grin on his face that made you sick to your stomach.

“It is not necessary,” Petrov replied flatly as he gripped the side of your face to get a better look at the burn marks on your skin.

Cain jumped down from the counter. “Maybe not, but it’ll be fun. She’ll know their meaning and I want to see the look on her face when she realizes. Get her all emotional. See if it helps.”

He stared at you, lips curving in that sickening smirk and you gritted your teeth. He was always trying to find new ways to torture you, to break you down to nothing. Your upper lip twitched as you struggled to contain yourself; a staring contest of wills.

“If you must,” Petrov replied offhandedly, thick Russian accent as he adjusted the settings on the machine. He pulled out his book, flipped on a switch and a surge of energy ran through your veins. You tried to bare it, to grit your teeth and push through the pain because you knew Bucky had once been subjected to this chair and maybe you could tether yourself to him in some one, hold onto him enough to guide you through this.

“Марафон,” Petrov recited, pacing down the room, watching your vitals.

“ _Marathon_ ,” Cain spat, a translation you could barely hear over the roar of the machine and then, a flash of Bucky running at your side swept through your vision.

Even as you screamed out in pain, as voltage ran through your bloodstream, you thought of Bucky’s light breaths as he jogged beside you, slowing down in pace when your muscles started to ache and he thought you didn’t notice.

“горький,” Petrov continued, sending a watchful eye in Cain’s direction.

“ _Bitter_ ,” Cain sneered the translation at you and you could only think of coffee at five in the morning, hunched over the counter; a watchful eye as you stretched in the corner for weeks before you heard his voice for the first time.

“Бруклинский,” _Brooklyn._ The first time you took Bucky to New York. You screamed out; the pain unbearable as it pulsed through your head, like a damn about to break.

“скаут,” _Scout._ The little girl in To Kill a Mockingbird. Bucky’s favorite character in the first book in a series of novels you had put together for him. His catch-up list. The stench of burnt hair filled the room.

“боевой,” _Combat._ Sparing in the ring. Fighting alongside him in the battlefield. You couldn’t breathe. The heel of Petrov’s boot clicked as he paced down the room.

“возлюбленная,” _Sweetheart._ You let out a guttural cry as the translation hung through Cain’s vicious voice. A name so loving, so revealing, that hearing it come from a man so cruel, so opposite to Bucky in every way, was an act of violence in itself.

“мелодия,” _Melody._ Tears streaming down the sides of your face as you thought of sitting at the end of your bed, curled up on the floor, laptop between you as the soft strum of a guitar filled the room and Bucky’s sweet voice asking you to play it again.

“вена,” _Vienna._ Your first mission together. Cain was laughing out of view. Petrov tapped his pen against the clipboard.

“шестнадцать,” _Sixteen_ ; of twenty-sixteen. The year you met. You were teetering on the edge of consciousness, pain too excruciating to hold onto.

“страсть,”Petrov called out, one last jolt of electricity through your veins and slowly, the machine released from the sides of your face and your body slumped in relief. Breaths heavy in your chest, jaw locked around the mouth guard and hands clenched so tightly around the armrests you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to pry them away.

Cain stood from his seat at the corner of the room, strolling over you to and grabbed a firm hold of your jaw, forcing you to meet his eye as he spoke the last translation, his breath hot on your skin.

 _“Desire,”_ he purred the final translation before he leaned in closer, lips pressed as if he were to kiss you and you spat at him, a growl in your throat and daggers in your eyes.

Cain stepped back with a fury over his face you hadn’t even seen in the months he’d been torturing you and he slapped you hard across the face.

You barely felt it from the lingering ache of the machine.

“It’s not working,” he spat at Petrov, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I thought this was supposed to make her compliant! _Does she look compliant to you!?_ ”

“It takes time, Cain. You must be patient,” Petrov sighed, scribbling on his clipboard as he examined the monitors displaying your vitals. “Our fathers’ generation had years to perfect the winter soldier and I have been given months. Even knowing that the Avengers will not come for her, her will is too strong. That is the difference between her and the asset. She still has something keeping her from giving in to the conditioning; something to live for.”

Cain nodded, turning to glare at you over his shoulder. The curve of a knowing smile that etched against his lips was enough to make your stomach sink.

“Then we’ll destroy it.“

***

That night, you curled up on your side, thinking of the words they used on you, words that were meant to be personal, words they shouldn’t have been able to know about you, about Bucky. His favorite fictional character wasn’t something they’d be able to find in a newspaper. None of it made sense, but your head now had a constant unpleasant ringing at the base of your skull that made it difficult to focus on much of anything.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?”

You stared up at the ceiling, struggling to keep your eyes awake as Danny’s tired voice carried through the small crack in the wall. Slowly, you turned to face the hole, the blurry figure of ginger hair and tan camouflage barely in view.

“I think I’d go back home, apologize to my ma,” Danny continued, answering his own question with a careful nod of his head. “I wasn’t always a good kid growing up. Caused a bit of trouble. It was a small town, you know? What else were a bunch of idiot teenage boys gonna do? She… she didn’t deserve the stress I put on her. I think she should know that I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure she does,” you said softly, your voice raspy and raw from the machine. Danny hummed in response, thankful.

“I’m gonna see a Yankees game, too. Think your pal Stark will help me out?” he asked with a slight chuckle in his voice though it sat against a deep unease that settled uncomfortably in your chest.

“Of course,” you replied as tears welled in your eyes.

Danny wasn’t naïve, not anymore. He knew he had as good a chance of getting out of here as you did, but this was how he hung on, how he kept himself from falling into the darkness. He imagined something better.

“Maybe I’d give college another shot,” he sighed. “I think I could do better this time. Maybe I could go for criminal justice or something. I’d have a pretty high up contact at SHIELD now.”

A laugh escaped you, broken, but the faint burn in the crack of your lips went unnoticed.

“What are you gonna do?” Danny asked, as he always did.

You usually gave him some short, convenient answer so you wouldn’t have to really think about, so you didn’t have to imagine what could happen, knowing that it wasn’t in your future. It was too painful and you needed every ounce of strength you could muster.

But you’d been put through the chair more times than you could count. Pain had become second nature and you had stopped seeing Bucky even in your dreams. You were losing him, details fading from your memory. He had a freckle on his forehead, something no sane person would notice, but it was something you caught onto in the moments he allowed you to be that close, to notice something so small and faint between the lines of his brow. It was a privilege to live in his details.

Only now you couldn’t remember if it was above his left or right eye. You couldn’t remember if his eyes were more blue or grey or if they were somewhere in between. You were losing pieces of him and it wasn’t the chair that was taking him away. It was time. Soon, you’d lose him entirely. You’d lose the sound of his voice, the crinkles by his eyes when he smiled, the curve of his lips. You’d lose him, more and more each day until he was gone from you.

“I’d tell Bucky he’s the best parts of me,” you confessed suddenly, surprising yourself as you brushed aside tears that had formed in your eyes. “I’d make sure he knew that none of this was his fault. If it took months or years, I’d remind him every day that what happened here wasn’t because of him. I’d tell him that he is so immensely loved and I’d spend the rest of my days convincing him if he’d let me because I know he’d have a hard time believing it. I’d get away from all this for a while, take Bucky to Alaska or New Zealand and just be with him like I always wanted… like I think maybe he has, too.”

“We’d come back home when we’re ready,” you continued, desperately trying to picture it all in your mind. “We’d come back and I’d spend time with the team; the only real family I ever had. We’d watch movies for hours and order pizza from Chicago and lobster rolls from Boston just to put Tony’s money to good use. I’d go back to that stupid hipster bookshop in Brooklyn and buy a thousand more books and sit in the grass down by the lake at the compound and read until I fall asleep. I’d finally convince Nat to teach hand-to-hand to the rookies with me and help Sam down at the VA. I’d thank Steve for taking care of the love of my life in the times I couldn’t. I’d… I’d find a way to forget this place.”

“That sounds really nice,” Danny said softly, and you closed your eyes, tears sliding down your temple as you laid upon the mattress.

Danny’s hand pressed to the wall, the lines of his palm barely visible through the tiny opening and casting shadows into your cell. You mirrored his gestured, your palm resting and the cool sensation of the concrete.

A silent acknowledgement of the fantasies neither of you would ever see.

Then, the sharp clicking of locks. Only, it wasn’t coming from your cell.

“Danny?” you called carefully as he pulled away from the wall in a sharp motion, scrambling into the corner. The door slammed open and hit the adjacent wall loud enough for it to send a jolt through your spine. You listened carefully, hands pressed to the wall now, sitting up on your knees as you tried to decipher what was going on.

“No, no, please,” Danny begged, his voice breaking and you clamped your hand over your mouth. “Please, no more–”

“Let’s go, kid,” Cain’s voice chuckled, muffled, through the wall.

Danny was scrambling away, instinctively fighting back. “Get off of me!”

A muted punch and Danny grunted, falling silent, and what was left of your nails dug into your cheeks to keep silent. Feet scrapped along the floor as footsteps retreated from the room and you could only picture them dragging Danny behind them. It wasn’t the first time it happened, that they took him off to some unknown room only to return hours later, bloodied and beaten, but it was never any easier.

You sat back against the wall, tapping on your knee anxiously and waited for the hours to pass before he came back. You counted cracks in the ceiling, wrung at your hands, fidgeted with the ends of your worn clothing to pass the time.

He’d be back. They always brought him back, you reminded yourself on an endless loop.

Hours passed and still nothing. You stood to your feet; body stronger now that they had graced you with meals again and you began to pace. Your legs had grown sore and tired and you lost track of how long you had been shuffling your feet.

Suddenly, clicks run out beyond the door of your cell and you narrowed your eyes, freezing into place as the door swung open. Cain strolled in, pleasantly surprised to find you standing, watching him suspiciously. His knuckles were broken and red with blood.

“Hey there, princess.”

“Where is he?” you spat, convinced now that Cain had discovered your friendship with Danny long ago. He’d been waiting for the right moment to strike, to do something about it. This was it.

“Who?” he grinned, feigning innocence.

“You know damn well who!” you shouted back at him, red faced and arms flailing out to the side, taking a step in his direction, only for Cain to pull out a gun and aim it right at your chest.

“Better watch your step, princess.”

“You won’t kill me.” You shook your head. Defiant. Confident. “You need me for something. Wouldn’t waste all that time trying to mess with my head for nothing, would ya?”

Cain shrugged, chuckling under his breath as he holstered his weapon, “you caught me. We need to keep your body preserved, healthy even, but your will to live, to fight what we will make of you, has been… _irritating_ to say the least. Lucky for me, I think I’ve found a way to break you. Would you like to see?”

“Fuck off, Cain,” you rolled your eyes, arms folding over your chest. Hardened features against the burn marks on the side of your face from the machine and Cain only grinned at you. He gestured for someone beyond the door and the sound of rustling footsteps came from down the hall.

A man appeared in the doorway, in his right hand something that made your stomach drop below your feet. Ginger hair wrapped between dirty fingers, clenched in this man’s fist. Danny was on the floor, grasping at the man’s hand to find relief, blood pouring down from his nose and eyes widening in fear when he caught sight of you.

Your arms fell to your sides, lips parting in shock as you watched the man drag Danny further into the room, shoving him down by Cain’s feet. Danny groaned, curling up on his side as he nursed an injury under the fabric of his shirt.

“Danny,” you whispered his name, fear laced in your voice that only egged Cain on. Danny lifted his eyes, nodding subtly at you, enough to tell you he was okay.

“Danny boy and I have been catching up, haven’t we?” Cain taunted, nudging Danny with his shoe. “He has been so incredibly helpful. Ain’t that right?”

Danny grimaced, shutting his eyes as he turned his face to the concrete. You furrowed your brow, watching as he so intently avoided your eyes.

“Oh, she hasn’t figured it out yet, has she?” Cain snickered, laughing with the men behind him. He reached down and grabbed a fist full of orange curls and yanked Danny to his knees. Your heart lurched as Danny let out a whimper, wobbling and unsteady as Cain released him. “Go on. Tell her what you did.”

Heart beating wildly in your chest, you slowly sank to your knees, trying to find his eye, but Danny wouldn’t look at you. Seeing him now, in full view, only made your stomach twist further. He was so young, practically a child; hands quaking and tears in his eyes. Skinny and baby faced.

“Danny,” you soothed. “Danny, it’s okay. You can tell me. What happened?”

He shook his head, gritting his teeth. Cain, growing impatient, kicked him hard in the shoulder and he fell forward, barely catching himself on his hands before his nose hit the concrete. He pushed himself back up to his knees, arms shaking violently.

“I– I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his voice thick with tears.

Cain rolled his eyes, stepping forward and knocking his fist to the side of Danny’s face, sending him spiraling to the ground. On instinct, you lunged forward at him, only for the barrel of Cain’s gun to return its aim on you. You froze, glancing between Danny and Cain.

“If he’s too much of a coward to tell you, then I’ll do it,” Cain grunted. “This punk’s been selling you out from the beginning; every time we dragged the little traitor from his cell, he’d let us know all the new fun facts you told him. Feeding us information you wouldn’t even give under the threat of a knife.”

Your breath hitched, a dread settling deep in your stomach.

It was how they got the trigger words; words they intended to use to rip your will from you and replace it with something dark, something evil and sinister and render you a witness to your own crimes. They learned these words from the kid who so innocently acted as your sounding board, who you confessed your memories and pieces of your heart to. They beat him and tortured him until he gave them up, unwillingly.

“It was his only purpose here, though he didn’t know that for quite some time,” Cain continued, pleased by the devastation on your face. “We knew that you’d never give up those details to me or anyone who tortured you long enough for ‘em, but we knew you’d tell some pathetic little army brat just to hold on to some kind of misguided hope. So yes, we brought in a naïve kid for you to bond with and eventually, he gave up all of the stories you told him. Didn’t you, Danny boy?”

Danny let out a cry, arms folding around his chest protectively and you leaned forward on your hands, outstretched as if to reach him though you knew you could go no further. He shook his head, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, face flushed and red with a shame he didn’t deserve to bare.

“Danny, look at me,” you urged, voice as gentle as calm as you could manage despite the rage boiling under the surface. Before Danny’s eyes could meet yours, you shot a glare at Cain, fury in your veins for the torment he put this kid through.

“I’m s-so sorry, Y/n,” he whimpered out, his youth and innocence on full display. Bright green eyes hooded under freckled, bruised skin, looked up at you, though his jaw was quivering. “They– they made me tell ‘em and I—I tried not to. You have to b-believe me, I t-tried.”

“I know you did, honey,” you reassured him, tears welling in your own eyes. “Danny, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

Danny shook his head, unconvinced.

“Not that this isn’t thoroughly entertaining,” Cain grumbled, “but we’re all gathered here for a reason and this little love fest ain’t it.”

“Just let him go, Cain!” you implored, slamming your hands against the concrete. “He’s practically a child! He’s done what you wanted! You don’t need him here!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he shot back, seething. “He was old enough to foolishly sign his life away to fly overseas and kill people for his government, maybe even get killed himself. I don’t consider that a child, do you?”

You were fuming, panting. It only made Cain smile wider.

“But you are right about one thing,” Cain shrugged, “I don’t need him. Not anymore.”

In one swift motion, Cain pointed the barrel of his gun at the back of Danny’s head. Your eyes went wide, breath caught in your lungs.

“Just so we’re clear, this is me destroying your last reason to live,” Cain smirked, pushing the gun against Danny’s head enough for his whole body to move in an attempt to relieve the pressure. Danny’s eyes were clamped shut; his trembling hands curled into fists.

You were frozen as Cain released the safety on the gun, the click of it echoing through the cell, deafening to your ears as time seemed to fall still. Heart pounding painfully, the thumping of it pulsing loud enough to hear, and your breaths coming out in shaky, uneven exhales.

Danny turned to look back at Cain and it kicked your adrenaline back into gear.

“Danny, _no!_ Look at me!” you begged, urgency in your voice and you were met with the most stunning shade of green, hidden under layers of wet tears and red strain within the whites of his eyes. “Don’t look at him, Danny. Look at me, okay? I’m right here. I’m here with you.”

Danny nodded; his cheeks wet though a sudden calm washed over him. His hands fell still in his lap as he focused on you, on your breaths and your words, though they were breaking through your cries.

“Just keep your eyes on me, okay?” you urged desperately, not daring to spare a glance at Cain’s direction. “I’m right here. I’m here.”

You knew what was coming. You’d seen it weeks earlier as it happened to a woman wearing your face, but nothing could prepare you for the soft, impossibly kind smile that Danny gave you, the world around you stilling and moving in slow motion, a whisper of a ‘thank you’ on his lips.

“Danny,” you cried, voice breaking, “I’m here, I’m right–”

Deafening sound. Blood on your face. Copper on your tongue and the echo of a gunshot pierced your eardrums. Ringing and muffled voices as you swayed on your knees, staring ahead to the space Danny had been.

Paralyzed. Every movement of your arms felt like you were running through water, resistance against you. You didn’t hear Cain talking with the men in the room, barking next orders, not as you crawled along the hard surface of the concrete towards the body of the boy who had kept you sane for nearly three months.

Your hands, shaking violently, grabbed onto his shirt, turning him onto his back and a sob broke through you at the sight of his eyes, staring far off and in-between, glossed over, unseeing. You brushed your hand over his lids, closing them softly, and for a moment you could pretend he was sleeping. This sweet, kind, and gentle kid who deserved far more than this world gave him, lying in your arms, blood soaking through your clothes.

A hand gripped onto your bicep and you could barely feel it as you were dragged away, Danny ripped away from your gasp as your body skidding along the ground. You watched Danny’s figure fade from view as you were pulled out of the cell. You kept your eyes on him as long as you could, the most you could offer him, until he was gone.

Barely able to string your thoughts together, unable to feel anything other than the cold, numb ache that sat in your chest, consuming and expanding through your body, and you were strapped into the chair.

Staring off to the end of the room, body numbed and outside of yourself, you hardly registered the panels clamp down to the side of your face; didn’t care when the jolts of electricity burned through your veins and metal singed your skin. The words spoken in Russian, cold and detached, held no meaning, no memories to hold onto.

The faint sound of a man’s voice, dark and deep, a scar upon his face, taunted, “if we cannot control the soldier, we will destroy him with what he loves.”

You didn’t know who the man was referring to.

When the machine released and the pain drained from your body, you felt no relief. Only a cold emptiness.

Then, a man in a lab coat asked you a question. Words in a language other than your own slipped from your lips.

“готов соблюдать”

_Ready to comply._


	8. Eight

Bucky took in a steady breath; a cold, calculated inhale as he focused his scope on a target sitting at a table outside a quaint café in Brussels. A light breeze filtered through his hair, enough for him to adjust the positioning of the rifle a few millimeters to the left before he took his shot. The man, dressed in a navy suit and dark tinted glasses, took a sip of coffee from the mug on the table, steam visible through the end of Bucky’s scope.

He positioned his finger on the trigger, the soft click of the safety as it released, and Bucky narrowed in his aim, ready to make that final pull, the difference between life and death with a single flinch of his finger.

“Busy, Barnes?”

Natasha’s voice chimed from behind him and his positioning faltered as he swung back an angry glare in her direction. Wearing her leather jacket hung over her shoulders and red hair worn up away from her face, she sat on the edge of the rooftop, back to the café and legs swinging aimlessly beneath her. She raised an eyebrow, searching for an answer to her question and Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for her antics.

He turned back to his scope to find the target missing from the table. Gritting his teeth, he searched for the man amongst the crowd, only to find a short glimpse of him before he disappeared inside of the restaurant. Bucky sat back against his heels with an aggravated grunt.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Who’s the target?” Natasha countered, knowing eyes upon him and he knew she didn’t need the answer to confirm her suspicions.

“Not your business,” he replied shortly, unscrewing the end of his rifle and carefully placing the pieces back in the case. He’d have to take out the target on foot; up close, personal. It would be a welcomed change, could give him a chance to make sure that asshole knew exactly who was draining the life from his pathetic, feeble existence.

“Think it might be actually,” Natasha shrugged, jumping down from the lip of the roof, “since you’ve gone rouge and all.”

Bucky paused before he slammed the case shut, locking the rifle away. He stood to his feet; case gripped tightly in the palm of his left hand. Natasha watched him, studied him, because while he was still getting to know her again, she knew him better than most, knew the tells he didn’t realize he had. But Natasha had known the soldier, he reminded himself. It wasn’t the same.

“I’m not rouge,” Bucky grunted, shoving past her as he headed for the stairwell. “Steve knows where I am.”

Bucky’s hand grasped onto the door knob, warm from the beam of the sunlight and he turned it sharply before Natasha’s voice called out again.

“He also know you’re taking out Hydra agents on a hitlist _without_ SHIELD jurisdiction?”

Bucky froze. He had told Steve he was taking time for himself, traveling for bit, because being in the compound a second longer was going to destroy him. Steve had seen him take the weapons with him, caught him as he loaded a rifle into his bag and about four different hand guns and a series of knives, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t question it. Bucky assumed Steve had his suspicions, but no one, not even the Captain, was going to challenge him after what happened in Times Square.

No one except Natasha, apparently.

“Go home, Natalia,” Bucky urged, keeping his back to her as she approached him.

“Can’t do that,” she retorted with a purse of her lips, arms folded over her chest, “not when you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“I’m doing just fine.”

“Are you?” Nat accused, standing in his way as he attempted to pull the door open to escape this conversation. She pressed her hand against the door and slammed it shut. “If you were okay, you wouldn’t be out here killing off Hydra agents like it’s a damn hobby. Y/n wouldn’t want—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Bucky snapped, dropping the case and shoving Nat hard against the door. His forearm draped over her collarbone, pressing her securely in place.

If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. Always so calm, collected. Unaffected. She watched him carefully like she was searching his face for something he’d never say aloud. He hardened his features, unwilling to give her the satisfaction and pulled away, releasing her from his grasp.

“Y/n doesn’t _want_ anything for me,” Bucky growled, voice low and unforgiving. “She’s dead.”

Natasha flinched, losing her cool demeanor for only a second but it was long enough for Bucky to notice, to feel a sting of guilt pierce through the impenetrable exterior he built around himself.

He hadn’t let himself think of you in the two months since you died. It wasn’t just because it was too painful; the mere memory of you cutting and ripping at the hole in his chest until he was broken and empty. It had become survival instinct.

In the days after the events in Times Square, he had been a mess. It took hours before anyone could convince him to leave the open streets, even as camera vans pulled in and reporters shot their footage of the winter soldier sobbing on his knees, frozen, paralyzed, as the rest of the world continued on, as pedestrians moved about their day. His legs grew stiff and numb from how long he stayed there, knees digging into the pavement and unable to catch his breath.

He couldn’t seem to get away from the nonstop coverage of the event. It was on every news network, every late-night show, in every newspaper. He was plastered across the cover of TIME magazine; an image of him kneeling in the open streets, Times Square brought to an agonizing stop, devastation on his face and images of the man in the black mask covering every screen in sight. He couldn’t escape the reminders of what happened to you.

He holed himself up in his room; didn’t eat or sleep for days, and only found rest when he wondered into Dr. Cho’s office and begged her on hands and knees to sedate him, because the thought of seeing you in his dreams was more than he could handle and the need for sleep was crippling his body at the seams.

Bucky wasn’t the only one suffering. He knew that. The whole team had loved and cared for you and they lost a member of their family, but for Bucky, it was more than that. You were the light in his life, his reason to get up in the morning, the crutch that held him up when his body ached. He put too much on you, put his recovery and the darkest parts of his mind for you to hold, but you made it too easy, always asking for his burdens to share, always wanting to hold his hand in the dead of night, always curling up against him when the nightmares pulled him under.

Bucky didn’t know how to be the man you loved anymore.

Somewhere along the line, he decided that the man you knew him to be wasn’t strong enough to survive this. The Bucky you loved was too soft, too weak to have protected you that day, to have saved you in that Hydra facility before you were even taken, to have rescued you before you were executed on the live television for the world to see. That version of Bucky broke on 7th Avenue.

The day he finally emerged from his room again, after he’d lost nearly fifteen pounds of muscle and dark bags hung heavy under his eyes, his beard unkempt and hair grown long and unwashed, he’d told Steve he was going to Spain for a while, said he would take some time away to find himself again; a bullshit excuse to fuel the rage and vengeance stirring in his chest and Steve agreed with little persuasion.

Only one month after your death and Bucky regained the weight he lost, packed on muscle and lived behind the scope of his rifle. He found a reason to live again and it was killing every son of bitch that was remotely rumored to have had any contact with you in your time in Hydra’s captivity. He didn’t care about trial and justice, or whether the rumors were true. He’d take out every Hydra agent he could find and it would ease the suffering in his chest. Every kill would make it just a little bit easier to breathe.

It was what he told himself anyway.

It was also how he ended up on a rooftop in Brussels two months later. He came back to the compound intermittently, feeding Steve lies of what he’d been up to, though he could tell Steve was more than aware of what Bucky was doing than he let on. He didn’t say anything, didn’t challenge him on it, and Bucky was thankful for that, at least. It seemed he wasn’t the only one hell bent on revenge.

“Bucky,” Natasha started, breaking through his train of thought, voice softer now as he reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under her touch. “You should come back with me. Don’t put yourself through this. You don’t have to be alone.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, teeth pressed so tight that it ached in his muscles. He yanked his arm out from Natasha’s reach and grabbed the case from the ground. He didn’t say another word, didn’t offer an excuse, as he shoved his way through the door, leaving Natasha on the rooftop alone.

***

Hours later, once the sun had gone down and Bucky tracked his target to a laundromat on the outskirts of the city, he grabbed his bag of weaponry from the trunk of his car. The soft chirps of crickets in the background in stark contrast to the hustle of the inner city, and Bucky pulled a handgun from his bag and slipped it into the holster at his side. He grabbed two knives and set them in place on his jacket before closing the trunk securely.

He had a job to do, one he would thoroughly enjoy.

“Whatcha got there, Barnes?”

“Goddamn it, Romanoff,” Bucky grumbled as red hair emerged from behind the shadows.

She was one of a very few number of people who could sneak up on him. Hands tucked into her pockets, her eyes glimpsed at the silver reflection of the knives strapped to Bucky’s chest before she turned back to the window of the laundromat where the man from the café was loading clothes into a washer inside.

Bucky gritted his teeth, shoving past her as he made his way to the door. “I thought I told you to go home.”

“Don’t think I ever agreed to that,” she responded flatly, following him. “What exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Go. Home. Natalia. _”_

There was a short pause that followed, one a lifetime could have sat between. He was nearly to the door when Natasha’s voice called out after him; softer, aching.

“Y/n was my friend too, you know.”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, breath caught in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists at his side, nails of his right hand puncturing his palms. The pain wasn’t nearly enough to distract him.

“ _Don’t say her name to me._ ”

“You don’t get to capitalize on grief, Barnes, and you sure as hell don’t get to control how the rest of us mourn!” Natasha shot back. “You don’t get to use her as an excuse to pursue a vengeance she never would have wanted for you! This doesn’t have to be who you are anymore. It was Y/n that showed you that, don’t you remember? You don’t have to be _this_.”

The Winter Soldier. Cold. Ruthless. Vindictive.

Bucky closed his eyes, unwilling to turn around and allow Natasha to see the painful clench of his jaw, the burn in the back of his throat, the red in the whites of his eyes. It had been so long since he’d heard your name, since he let himself even remember who he had been when he was with you, and it was all rushing back. He couldn’t let that happen.

He couldn’t let himself be weak again.

Bucky took a step forward but Natasha rushed around him, placing a hand on his chest and planting herself to the ground.

“Get out of my way.”

She shook her head and Bucky grabbed firm hold of her arm, metal gripping flesh and shoved her aside until she slammed against the trunk of the car with a grunt. Bucky was halfway to the door when she spotted her reflection charging at him through the window of the store. He spun on his heels to catch her leg in time before she kicked it against his side. He swung himself around, sending an elbow to her back. She retaliated with a punch to the side of his face though he barely felt it, even as blood gushed from his lip.

They went back and forth, Avengers fighting in the alley under the mask of darkness, evenly matched, until Bucky yanked the handgun from the holster on his thigh and aimed it straight at her chest.

Natasha’s eyes widened, flickering between the barrel of the gun and Bucky’s face. She was panting, heavy breaths in her chest as he stared at Bucky in disbelief.

But she’d never understand. Bucky knew with certainty that no one would. It was why Steve never asked questions when he saw the weapons in his bag. Bucky only knew how to fill the void inside of him with violence and vengeance. It was all he knew before you and now that you were gone, it seemed like it was all he could physically muster just to stay alive.

He looked at Natasha, red hair clinging to the sides of her face in sweat. He knew how much you cared for her, how she had been the one who trained you, who taught you that you could have more in your life than just missions and SHIELD. She was your closest friend and Bucky had been cruel to her, tossing her aside like her own grief meant nothing in comparison to his, but he needed to be selfish, needed to protect himself because if he didn’t, he’d drown.

“Y/n wouldn’t recognize you right now,” Nat exhaled. Her tone was lacking the malicious intent he deserved, only filled with a devastation he couldn’t quite understand.

Bucky lowered his gun and set it back in the holster.

“Go home, Natalia.”

With that, he turned on his heels in search of the next man on a list of names whose blood would find its way to his hands. She didn’t follow him.

***

A few weeks later and Bucky found himself in Bratislava at the center of a Hydra base. Blood coated his hands, dripping in clumps down his sleeves and soaking into the fabric of his jacket. Bodies lined the hallway from where he came, dozens of men who dared block his path. His escape plan had been thrown out the window the moment he stepped foot in the building because at the end of the long hallway, he spotted one of the men at the top of his hitlist, a low-level agent named Brent Murkowski.

Murkowski had been one of the men who had dragged you away from him all those months ago. Harsh hands wrapped around your arms as you kicked and screamed as Bucky tried to punch his way through the barrier with no avail. Murkowski had the nerve to smile at him, taunting him as they took you away, and Bucky was determined to cut the man’s lips from his mouth if that was what it took to ease the sharp pain that had taken residency in his chest

No man would stand in his way.

And no man did.

He killed every last one of them. The floors were red with blood. Murkowski was bent over the table, throat slashed, and Bucky felt no relief. Being numb would be better than this.

Feet sticking to the tiles from the blood under his boot, Bucky carefully moved to the doorway, only to find Steve standing it’s his frame, a strange mixture of shock, anger, and disbelief on his features as his eyes trailed over the series of bodies, the blood, until they landed on Bucky.

“ _Jesus,_ Buck,” he gaped, shaking his head, “this what you’ve been doing the last few months?”

Bucky shrugged, brushing his knife off on his pants. “Usually it’s cleaner than this. Been sniping ‘em from a mile away,” he said casually. He grabbed a hold of Murkowski’s hair, lifting his face for Steve to see and blood gushed from his neck. Steve winced. “This one deserved something more personal.”

Steve shook his head, hand brushing over his lips as he took in the scene. “This is insane, Buck. It’s not you.”

“You don’t know what’s _me_ anymore, Steve.”

“Like hell I don’t!” Steve crossed the room in a span of a few paces and grabbed a hold of Bucky’s arm, dragging him out to the hallway. “You’re acting like you’re the only one who lost her! Like you’re the only one that’s affected by what happened! Nat was right. You’ve gone too far and I’m putting a stop to this. Now.”

“Oh, so _now_ you have a problem with me killing off Hydra agents now that you’ve seen my work?” Bucky scoffed, ripping his arm from Steve’s grasp. “Or is it because your little girlfriend thinks I’m out of control?”

“Watch yourself, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, clenching his jaw to hold the anger boiling in his veins in.

Steve sighed, gesturing to the far end of the hallway. “Get to the jet. I’m taking you home.”

“I’m _not_ a child—”

“You’re sure as hell acting like one!” Steve shot back. “You’re throwing a temper tantrum with knives and guns and taking out your anger and _your grief_ on any Hydra agent you can find! They deserve that. Hell, they deserve worse! But you don’t have to be the instrument to do it! It’s the last thing Y/n would want and you know that!”

“Will you people stop _fucking_ saying her name to me!”

Bucky’s chest was panting heavily; the rise and fall heavy in his lungs, anger left unclaimed and unrestrained setting him ablaze. Steve shook his head, sadder now, as if seeing his brother this way, this lost and helpless, drained the frustration from him.

“She’s not just something you can push aside and forget about, Buck,” Steve said, his voice considerably softer now and his shoulders began to slump. “She was real and alive and she changed you. You can’t erase her from your life like she never existed. You can’t pretend didn’t love her.”

“I’m—” Bucky exhaled through his teeth, “I’m _not._ I’m taking down the people who killed her, Steve. She’d want that. We’re Avengers, aren’t we? It’s in the fucking title! I’m trying to _avenge_ her since none of you will!”

“Look around you! All this blood and violence… You’re going to get yourself killed, Buck!” Steve shouted, slamming his hand against the wall enough to make Bucky jump. “Don’t you care at all?!”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t!”

The words slipped out before Bucky could stop them and wished for a moment that he could reach out a grab them from the air before they fell on Steve’s ears because the absolute look of devastation upon his friend’s face was worse than he could have prepared for. His name came out in stuttered consonants from Steve’s lips but he pushed past him before anything could be said, walking down the hall towards the jet.

He couldn’t talk about it. Not now. Not with fresh blood coating his hands and the stench of death in the air. Bucky couldn’t face another conversation about how he was throwing his life away, how he was being too reckless in his hunt to destroy Hydra, how he waited patiently for each of these self-destructive missions to be his last and relieve him from the burden of this never-ending pain in his chest.

Bucky had lived through so much in his life, too much for any one man to take on alone, and for a while he didn’t have to. For a while, he had you to lighten his load, to give him something to look forward to each day and for the first time in very long time, he started to think about days further out than the next, started to wonder if you’d like to go apple picking in the fall or Coney Island in the summer.

He had started to let himself fantasize about what a life would be like with you if he ever worked up the courage to tell you how he felt. His nightmares started to be replaced with pleasant dreams and his trainings in the gym were sparring at your side instead of beating a punching bag until his knuckles bled. He started running around the compound instead of running for his life. He was free.

But you were gone and any progress he made left with you. Though, if he was honest with himself, he was worse now than before he met you. At least then, he had been convinced he would never find something to live for, something that made his days on this Earth worth dealing with the torment he had survived.

Now, he knew there was. He had it in the palm of his hand and it was ripped from him, violently and without remorse.

He stalked up the quinjet and took a seat in his usual spot. Steve didn’t say a word as he filed into the pilot’s seat. It was a quiet flight back home.

***

It was easier out on the road where he could push you from his mind, where he wasn’t constantly reminded of you everywhere he turned.

He saw you stretching by the fridge in the kitchen wearing your workout gear and the smile that made him want to come out from the darkness. He saw you in the gym, on the sparring ring, heard your soft grunts and the laugh that echoed through the raptures when you’d finally get him on his back. He saw you down by the lake, by the bench you’d read on as he’d sit in the grass at your feet, your hand casually carding through his hair like it didn’t mean more than just innocent touches.

You were everywhere and Bucky couldn’t breathe.

So, he started spending most of his time in the east wing of the compound. It was largely unfinished, with exposed beaming and dry wall, wooden frames of the foundation peaking through. It was the only place that wasn’t haunted by you.

Tony had put the project on hold after you were taken, so it was empty, quiet, and Bucky could find sanctuary somewhere no one would bother him, where no one would ask how he’s doing or if he was willing to see his therapist yet because the answers were always ‘fine’ and ‘no’.

One day, he found a spare pair of gloves in the corner of one of the rooms and picked up a hammer. He was always good with his hands, so he started to follow the plans the builders had laid out. It gave his mind something else to focus on besides the cruel voices in his head.

It was where he went first thing in the morning and didn’t return back to his room until long after the sun set. Sometimes, Sam would bring him some food he’d leave by the door, hoping Bucky would try and eat something, and every once in a while, he brought it back with a few bites missing. It was improvement, at least.

Two weeks in to his new routine, he brought his laptop with him, in need of something other than the sharp sound of the hammer to distract his thoughts, and reflexively opened up to one of the many playlists you made for him. It hadn’t been his intention, didn’t even consider that this would be the first place he’d go for music, to the tracks you strung together at the foot of your bed. His hand hovered over the cursor, shaking, unable to even press play before he broke down in tears. It was the first time he cried in months and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

It was Sam that eventually found him, after he’d been sent to bring Bucky dinner, curled up on the floor, hyperventilating and tears streaming down his face. Sam had rushed towards him, dropping the plate as glass shattered on the expose wood. He skidded on his knees and wrapped his arms tightly around Bucky, urging him to find five things he could see.

“C-can’t,” Bucky gasped, clinging onto Sam’s arms.

“Yes, you can, Barnes,” Sam had replied sternly, squeezing his shoulders a little tighter. “Five things you can see. Do it now.”

Bucky looked around the room, though it was blurry and tunneled and losing focus, he caught sight of a pair of gloves on the floor.

“G-gloves,”

“Good. Four more.”

“Ha-hammer,”

“Keep going,”

Bucky nodded, doing as Sam instructed until he named all five items he struggled to focus his blurring vision on.

Then, Sam asked him for four things he could feel. Shaking hands dug into the fabric of his jacket, felt the way Sam’s arms restricted around him, felt the hard of the wooden floors under him, the muggy heat of the air. He told Sam so.

“Three things you can hear,” Sam continued, “Come on, man, do you’re almost there.”

Bucky nodded, telling Sam he could hear his own heavy breaths, agents talking down the hall, Sam’s stupid, irritating voice. Sam laughed slightly at that and Bucky told him he heard that, too. It was getting easier to breath but his head was feeling numb.

Sam asked for two things he could smell.

Bucky took a minute, forced in a harsh, shaken breath through his nose and reported back, _“_ f-fresh wood and leather, from your jacket. _”_

“One thing you can taste,”

It was the last step. He didn’t want to say it aloud. It was too embarrassing, though, he supposed Sam had already seen the worst of it.

“Salt.” From his tears.

It took him a while to come back down from the haze, so long that his head was pounding and his arm felt numb by the end of it, but his heart rate did go down again, and he caught his breath.

He pulled away from Sam slowly, swallowing thickly and avoiding his eyes. Sam helped Bucky back up to his feet and offered him a short smile.

They never spoke of it again, but Sam started showing up to help Bucky with the renovations the next day, no matter how many times Bucky pushed him away.

Sam would hum to himself in the corner of the room, asking dumb questions, and undoing all of Bucky’s hard work and it drove him insane. But he found that he laughed when Sam caught his thumb under the head of the hammer and he started to tap his foot to the music Sam put on.

The days weren’t as long now with someone to talk to.

***

Bucky had been assigned for lunch duty, much to his reluctance. He left Sam behind in the east wing and jogged his way back to their kitchen. His own stomach was growling, which was new for him, and he wondered if it was part of the progress Sam talked about. He was starting to feel normal again, less of a machine, more like the man he was supposed to be, and he supposed that maybe eating meals three times a day was something he should be doing.

He pulled open the fridge, digging through the back to find the sandwiches Nat had put together for them this morning. He sighed, removing the bags and setting them on the counter as he noticed their names written in her handwriting, signaling who’s had mayonnaise on it. He wanted to apologize to her for how he’d treated her in Brussels but she wouldn’t hear it. Not because she didn’t accept it, but because she claimed it wasn’t necessary. He disagreed.

After grabbing a few water bottles, Bucky turned to head back to the east wing when he heard Steve’s voice from down the hall.

“Tony, you’re seeing things,” Steve said, voice strained, followed by a few drawn out footsteps. He was pacing. Bucky narrowed his eyes, leaving the sandwiches behind and following Steve’s voice down the hall.

“I’m telling you, Rogers, there’s something wrong here,” Tony replied, just as Bucky turned the corner to find the two of them standing at the end of the conference room.

Bucky’s heart nearly leapt from his chest when he saw what they were huddled around; an image of you on the television, tape pressed over your mouth, tears down your face. It was the video from the worst day of his life.

“Look at it,” Tony urged, pointing his finger at the TV. “There’s a fleck of gold in her eye in this frame. It’s subtle but it’s there. Go on, look!”

Steve looked closer, leaning into the television to get a better look, but his arms were crossed. He pulled away with a shake of his head. “Tony, I think you’re grasping at straws here. It’s probably the lighting.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Tony grunted, picking up the remote and zooming in until the entire TV displayed your eyes. Bucky grabbed onto the wall for support. “Look!”

“What am I supposed to be seeing here Tony…”

“Those aren’t Y/n’s eyes!” Tony shouted, almost gleefully, “That’s not Y/n!”

“Stop,” Bucky exhaled from the doorway, and though his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, it instantly grabbed the attention of the two men as they turned around sharply, surprised to see him standing behind him. Bucky’s grip on the wall was so tight it started to warp under his grip. “Don’t do this, Stark.”

Tony stepped forward, quickly turning the TV off and your eyes faded away from the screen. “Barnes, I’m– I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Y/n’s dead,” Bucky gritted out, the words never any easier as they fell from his tongue. They tasted like poison in his mouth. “She’s gone, Tony. We all saw it happen.”

Tony paused, clenching his jaw like he was trying to keep quiet. It didn’t last long. “But what if we didn’t? What if it wasn’t her?”

“Tony, stop,” Steve warned. “There is nothing worse than false hope.”

“Then I’ll find proof,” Tony conceded as he exited the room.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing over at Bucky nervously. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Buck. We all grieve in different ways and I think it’s just hitting Tony, you know? Think he’s struggling to believe it’s real.”

Bucky nodded, he knew the feeling well. “It’s okay. I get it.”

Steve smiled softly, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I know how hard this is but it feels like you’re starting to find yourself again. Y/n would be really proud of you.”

It was the first time he heard your name without wanting to scream and yell and throw himself into the dark embrace of the soldier. For the first time, he felt a sense of calm. Still, hurt in his chest, but it was a deep kind of longing he didn’t think would ever go away. It was something he could survive though, he thought.

“I feel like I owe it to her,” Bucky confessed carefully, voicing thoughts aloud he struggled to let himself process on his own, “to be the man she knew. I think… I think she’d want me to be okay. I’m not there. Hell, I’m really far from it, but it’s something I can work towards.”

“Something to keep you going?” Steve asked slowly.

It was only three weeks since Steve found him in Bratislava and brought him home, since Bucky had all but admitted to Steve he lost his will to live when you died. It was the reason he was asking now and Bucky nodded sincerely, sorry that he had scared Steve enough for him to still be questioning it.

“Besides, I gotta fix all the shit work Sam did in the east wing,” Bucky shrugged, a light hearted tone in his voice for the first time in months.

Steve snorted back a laugh. “Better get back to work then.”

***

Nights were still hard but he was getting better with them since he started going back to see his therapist. Steve’s jaw nearly hit the floor the day Bucky had asked him for a ride. It wasn’t easy and he certainly wasn’t ready to talk about you, but he learned new skills for evading the nightmares in his sleep, for controlling the panic attacks when they came. Turned out Sam’s method for counting the senses was legit and he figured he should thank him again for that if he got the courage.

He realized with the help of his therapist that you were his main coping skill. It was you that talked him down after his nightmares, that held him when he struggled to find reality when he opened his eyes again. It was you who coaxed him down when he struggled to breathe, when he couldn’t catch his breath and he was too lightheaded to stand. You were the glue that held him together and now he needed to learn how to pick up the pieces himself.

So, when he woke in the middle of the night with sweat on his skin and his heart pounding painfully in his chest, he immediately threw his jacket over his shoulders, tugged on a pair of jeans and sneakers and tried something new for a change.

Instead of stalking off to the gym to beat his knuckles raw on a punching bag, he decided to borrow one of Tony’s cars and head into the city. It wasn’t usually something he did alone; too afraid of the stares and the chaos, the unpredictability, but it was a place that reminded him of you and he wondered, for the first time, if maybe it was okay to follow your ghost.

Hands tucked tight into the pockets of his bomber and a baseball cap over his hair to obscure his eyes, he made his way through Brooklyn. The breeze was cool on his back, the city much quieter at this time of night, and there was an era of peace to it he didn’t expect to find.

Without realizing where he was going, he found himself in front of the bookshop you had dragged him to in his first trip back into the city since before the war. It was closed for the night, but something in the window caught his attention. It was a poster, hung on the door behind the glass, an image of your face upon it, smiling, almost mid laugh. Above it, in clear font, it read, ‘ _New York Does Not Forget_.’ Below, it the bottom corner of the page, scribbles of messy handwriting wrote, ‘ _even if she was a pain in my ass. RIP’._

Bucky couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he brushed his fingers over the glass, like touching it would bring him just a little closer to you. He could still see you arguing with the shop owner over when the building was built and the gleeful smile on your face when he conceded the argument. You still purchased all of your books here and Bucky knew it was a lot. Your feud with the owner was only in jest.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky let his hand fall away from the glass and back into his pocket. He shuffled back onto the sidewalk and followed the path wherever it led him.

Eventually he came upon a street with more people than he’d seen in a while. They huddled together at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and then as one, they all crossed the street heading down towards something beyond what Bucky could see. He narrowed his eyes, watching as people from every corner of the block seemed to be heading in the same direction. They were all going somewhere together.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Bucky jogged across the crosswalk with a few seconds to spare. He followed the crowd down several blocks until he came upon a massive crowd, all gathered at the center of an open park. Signs in their hands, candles illuminating the darkness.

“Five months to the day,” a speaker said from behind a microphone, though her voice was soft, reserved. The crowd was silent as they listened. “Five months since we lost one of our beloved heroes.”

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath, jaw clenching on reflex.

“Nearly seven since she was captured while on duty with the Avengers, doing her part, behind the scenes, to keep the people of this country safe from threat,” the woman continued and Bucky was frozen in his spot. “We are gathered tonight to remember her sacrifice.”

Bucky couldn’t move. He was frozen on the sidewalk, staring into the gathering like an outsider. He didn’t belong here. Shouldn’t be a part of something like this. He struggled every day trying to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, tried to hear it in your voice because he knew it would be what you’d say, but it was a constant fight, one he rarely won.

He turned to escape when he felt a tug on his jacket. No one ahead of him, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously until he felt the tug again. Looking down, he saw a girl no older than seven staring up at him; big dark eyes and curly brown hair pulled up in a large bun at the crown of her head. She smiled up at him like he wasn’t something to be feared.

“You need a candle?” she asked sweetly.

“I—I um,” he gaped nervously, eyes darting down the street to somewhere empty, quiet, and he turned back to the little girl who was holding a candle up for him, waiting patiently for him to take it. He swallowed despite the dryness in his throat. “Thanks.”

She grinned, smile beaming, and that was when Bucky noticed she was wearing a shirt with your insignia on it. He let out a heavy sigh and watched as the girl skipped back over to her mom as she stood at the edge of the parking passing out candles to those who entered.

Trying to get a hold of himself, Bucky tilted the brim of his cap down to shield his eyes and he made his way into the park. He kept a careful distance from the others the best he could, but soon the small greenery was filled with people.

“Agent Y/l/n was more than just an Avenger,” the woman’s voice carried through the crowd, “she was a New Yorker. She was one of us.”

Murmurs of agreement followed, people whispering to one another and raising their candles.

“If you saw her on the streets, she’d greet you like an old friend. She was exceptionally kind and cared more about her city and the people in it than anyone knew,” the woman said as the crowd nodded in response. The woman let out a heavy sigh. “She was lost to us too soon. Taken by the evil she worked so vigilantly to protect us all from.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and he looked down to find the candle snapped in his hand. Panic shook him from his trance and he glanced nervously around to see if anyone noticed. He couldn’t afford to stand out, couldn’t have people looking at him, knowing he was there. He was certain he’d be chased out.

“Hey,” a voice said beside him and Bucky’s whole body clenched up. He turned to find a kid who looked about the age he was when he was drafted; young and in a NYU hoodie. He pressed his lips out into a thin line and extended his candle to Bucky. “Take mine.”

Bucky stared at the candle for a moment before he turned to the young man. He recognized Bucky, that he was sure of, but there wasn’t a trace of fear in his eye, or a disdain he was so certain he would find. Instead, there was only condolence, a sad smile as he gestured for Bucky to take the candle.

“Thank you,” he muttered and the kid nodded, giving him a reassuring smile.

Bucky felt a little less out of place after that.

He stood there for hours, listening to the woman at the microphone he’d come to find out was named Maddie. She worked down at the Boys and Girls Club and knew you personally. Bucky learned for the first time that you spent a Saturday afternoon there once a month visiting the kids, playing games, and teaching self-defense. He hadn’t known that and it made him smile; the idea that he could still learn new things about you even after you’d gone.

He listened as Maddie passed the mic off to people as they lined up on the stage of the small, makeshift stage, and they told stories of the short encounters they had with you. He listened as a young, college aged woman told the crowd about when she accidentally spilled coffee on you in that café you’d brought Bucky to once, and how you had been nothing but kind and laughed it off easily, even offered to buy her a fresh cup.

Then, a teenage boy came to the stage, fumbling and nervous, but he grabbed the mic with as much courage as he could muster. He talked about the day Hydra agents had flooded the streets and he had been separated from his father when he was just ten years old. It was before your days as an Avenger, back when you were on a SHIELD ops team, and he was proud to have a story about you from that time.

He spoke about how you had swept him out of the way of an oncoming vehicle caught in the crossfire of an attack in mid-town, how you held his hand for the two hours it took to help locate his father, and you never once complained, never tried to pass him off to an officer because he was just so damn afraid of anyone but you.

Bucky’s heart swelled with pride and he barely noticed the tear that brushed down his cheek.

It was story after story, strangers recalling the absolute best of you and it was more than Bucky had allowed himself to indulge in your memory for months. It was a breath of air and it was suffocating. It was relief and burden all at once.

As a middle-aged woman took the stage and recalled the day she was visiting Times Sqaure with her daughter, the day your face appeared on every billboard for a mile long, Bucky swore his heart stopped. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, desperate to hide his face because tears had welled up in his eyes, a sob creeping its way through his spine.

He gasped against the lump in his throat, trying to stifle his cries before anyone could notice and he almost turned to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Wide eyes snapped to his right and he was met with a familiar face, a comforting one, who only offered him a soft, sad smile before he took his place next to him, carrying a candle of his own.

Steve.

He stared up at the speaker, listening intently and Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off of his friend.

“How did you–”

“FRIDAY,” he responded in a light whisper. He gestured to the back gate. “Once we figured out where you went, the whole team wanted to come.”

Sure enough, as Bucky glanced back at the gate, Natasha was gathering a few candles from the greeter. Sam was shortly behind her, talking with a young boy wearing a Falcon t-shirt, while Tony and Pepper walked hand in hand towards them.

Bucky nodded, a little overwhelmed as he turned back to the front. Steve’s hand gripped at his shoulder, firm squeezes in an effort to remind him he was there, that he wasn’t alone in his grief. The tears didn’t stop as he continued listening to the speakers, but they didn’t hurt as much after that, didn’t feel like shameful burns on his skin, but instead, like they were healing. 

***

It was nearly dawn by the time the team made their way back to the compound. Climbing out of the cars, Steve’s arm was thrown around Bucky’s shoulders, laughing about some story Sam had told about the time you had nearly convinced Thor that you were the Queen of New York. For the first time in months, Bucky had tears in his eyes from something other than heartbreak, cheeks burning with laughter.

The sun was rising in the distance, casting a stunning reflection of pale oranges and pinks and yellows over the tree line, and Bucky stopped for a moment, just letting himself take it in, to see something of beauty again. Steve clapped his hand against Bucky’s back, giving him a smile that was filled with of pride and relief.

Bucky wondered then if maybe he could find a way back to the light.

But then, a scream pierced through the grounds and Bucky’s heart stopped hard in his chest. It echoed and broke through the tree lines, surging birds in flight through the morning sky. Broken and fearful and full of a devastation Bucky didn’t even know how to place, he stumbled back out of Steve’s grip.

Steve sprinted towards the scream and Bucky quickly realized it was Natasha who had voiced such a sound. Shaking himself from his stupor, Bucky chased after Steve, running as fast as his feet could carry him because if anything was to scare Natasha like that, it had to be some awful, something truly terrifying and she’d need the entire team on alert.

It was only a few seconds before Bucky approached the rest of the team to find them gathered around something on the floor. Natasha was on her knees, gathering something up in her arms, though she was blocked from his view by the rustling crowd approaching. Tony was barking orders at agents as they approached with a kind of panic in his voice Bucky hadn’t heard before.

“Someone call Cho, now!”

 _Cho? Why would they need to call Cho,_ Bucky wondered as he glanced at Steve’s back only to find his muscles stiff, clenched.

“How the hell is this possible?” Sam gaped; his hands clasped on his head as he stared down in disbelief.

Bucky still couldn’t get a good look of whatever they were gawking at, but as Steve turned to face him, an unreadable expression on his face, his eyes wide and his lips parted in a loss of words, speechless in a way Steve Rogers never was, Bucky shoved his way forward until he caught sight of what laid at their feet.

Heart plummeting to the depths of the planet itself, knees weak and he nearly collapsed if it wasn’t for Steve’s sudden hold on him. Barely able to stand on his own feet, leaning heavily on the super soldier behind him, Bucky couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t even find it in him to scream or cry or speak a single word.

It was the culmination of months of heartbreak and anger and pain all shoved back into the span of a few seconds. Nothing he had experienced in the last seven months came anywhere close to this, to what he saw wrapped in Natasha’s arms, bloodied and scarred and teetering on the edge of consciousness, but so incredibly alive.

_You._


	9. Nine

The tight grip Bucky’s arm was the only thing keeping his feet on the ground. His mind was a thousand miles away, somewhere up in the clouds because what laid before him couldn’t possibly be real, couldn’t be anything but the darkest corners of his imagination or a fantasy that had been warped twisted and cruel within his nightmares.

It couldn’t actually be you lying at his feet in Natasha’s arms, scars and burns upon your skin and blood seeping through your clothes. It couldn’t be because _he’d watched you die._ He saw it happen on live television along with the entirety of New York City and he’d seen the bullet pierce through your temple, saw the blood splatter on the wall, and the cold, unforgiving stare of your eyes.

The grip on his arm tightened as he started to feel light-headed and he looked to his right to find Steve watching him, concerned and terrified and filled with a remorse Bucky couldn’t begin to describe himself. Steve’s handprint marked in red on Bucky’s skin and the burn was a relief from the agonizing churning in his stomach. 

Men and women in white coats rushed through the garage at Tony’s demands, urgently nudging Sam aside as they attempted to move you to the stretcher. It took a moment before Natasha was willing to let you go, her arms wrapped so tightly around your barely conscious frame, hands brushing through your hair, trying to wipe the blood from your face. It was Steve that eventually kneeled down beside her, giving her a slight nod, a brush of his hand over her shoulder and a careful whisper in her ear, before she let go.

Bucky watched as they carried you inside on the gurney, shouting orders at one another and hooking every possible machine up to your body as they could manage. Your left arm hung over the edge, limp, and a dread so devastating filled Bucky’s chest because you looked so lifeless and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that again; watching you die for a second time. Even as you disappeared into the building, Tony and Sam on the heels of the paramedics, Bucky couldn’t find the will to move his legs. He was frozen, paralyzed, and he was certain he was dreaming.

It had to be a nightmare, some cruel trick of his mind, because how else could you end up dropped at the driveway of the Avenger’s compound after all that happened?

He started pinching at his arm now that Steve’s grip left him, tugging skin between his fingers until a sharp pain radiated on his right forearm, but he wasn’t waking up. The skin was turning bright red, blood vessels popping and Steve grabbed a hold of his hand, ushering it away.

“You’re awake, Buck,” he said softly, knowing enough to be aware of the small ticks in Bucky’s coping, heathy and not, that he used to keep himself grounded. He looked down and his skin was already purpling. His therapist would frown at that.

“It can’t really be her, can it?” Bucky whispered, voice too broken and shaken for anyone but Steve to hear.

He didn’t respond right away, his left hand squeezing Bucky’s forearm reassuringly as his right curled around Natasha’s shoulders, tugging her into the crook of his chest and Bucky winced as he heard her trying to stifle her cries. Steve let out a heavy sigh, staring out into the garage before he glanced down at the pavement by their feet. Speckles of red discolored the cement below.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Steve admitted carefully and Bucky swallowed back the bile in his throat.

Bucky looked to the door at the end of the garage. Tony and Sam had followed the med team as they rushed you to the medical wing, leaving Bucky, Steve, and Nat outside. He tried to move a leg forward but found it was too heavy under him.

“Steve,” Bucky choked out, his hands shaking, “if she’s been alive this whole time and I didn’t…”

“Don’t go there,” Steve urged, hand gripping tight on Bucky’s arm, “not yet. Let’s get some answers first, okay?”

Bucky nodded, though it didn’t curb the rush of anxiety in his veins. The very idea that you could have been alive while he did nothing to find you, while he so selfishly caved to the darkest parts of himself to try and forget you was unimaginable.

An unsteady breath left his lungs and he pushed himself forward. Steve and Natasha trailed behind him and he knew if they hadn’t, he might have turned and run. It was what he did best.

The med wing was in chaos when he arrived. Dozens of nurses rushing down the halls as Dr. Cho sprinted past the waiting area and down the double doors, beyond where Bucky could see. He watched as she disappeared down the long hallway, turning into a room you had likely been wheeled into. His hands gripped onto the back of a chair, arm shaking, trying to get a better look he’d never find, until Sam blocked his view.

“Come on, man,” he urged, gesturing to the chair next to Steve, “have a seat, will you? You’re making the rest of us nervous.”

There was a soft laugh in his voice, light-hearted and genuine, and Bucky knew it was Sam’s effort at calming him. He was subtle about it, playing it off as his usual humor and Bucky appreciated it more than he would let on because it gave him a sense of normalcy he so desperately craved. Slowly, Bucky let himself collapse into the chair and found his knees ached from how locked they had been.

He didn’t know how long he spent hunched over on that chair, elbows to knees, hands wringing at one another as he tried to keep his breaths as even as he could manage. Tony was pacing relentlessly down the lobby, talking to himself and jotting a few things down on a notepad every few steps. Sam was standing by a vending machine, arms crossed and tapping his foot either from impatience or to the beat of a song in his head, his expression was too hard to reach which. Steve sat on Bucky’s right, staring straight ahead, still as a statue, while Natasha was curled up on the seat beside him, trying to find rest amongst the tension in the air.

Eventually, the double doors parted and Dr. Cho emerged, discarding light blue gloves in the bin and with a solemn grimace on her face. Bucky jumped to his feet the moment he heard the swing of the doors, panic keeping him on alert and unable to relax for even a second. Steve wasn’t far behind him, shaking Nat from her sleep as they met Dr. Cho halfway. Sam made his way over to the group, swaying on his feet as he stood.

“What’s going on here, Helen?” Tony asked quickly and for that, Bucky was thankful.

Dr. Cho paused, hands in the pockets of her lab coat as she glanced between the nervous Avengers in the room. She let out a heavy sigh and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s her.”

Bucky stumbled on his feet, grabbing a hold of the exposed beam beside him. His whole world was caving in and he couldn’t separate the relief from the devastation of knowing you’d been victim to Hydra this whole time while he grieved and mourned and threw himself back to the darkness you so tirelessly worked to pull him out of.

“How is that… How is that even possible?” Steve questioned, speaking the words from Bucky’s mouth. He didn’t trust his own voice.

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Cho replied. She glanced back at the doors before turning to face the team. “I’ve run every test I could think of; compared DNA from previous injuries and checked for old scars I personally stitched in the OR. It all matched. It’s Y/n. She’s… alive.”

“But,” Natasha started, her voice quieter than Bucky had ever heard it, “we all saw what happened. No one could have survived a headshot like that.”

A silence fell over the room because she was right, there was no real answer for that. Bucky’s grip on the beam was so tight he could feel the metal warping under his fingers, mailable like putty. Steve scratched at the back of his head, glancing up at Bucky before his eyes trailed across the room to Stark, who gave him a single nod.

“She could have survived if it wasn’t her who got shot,” Steve proposed in a kind of sad revelation, sharing a knowing look with Tony.

“I’ve had my suspicions,” Tony agreed, rubbing his hand down his mouth, “couldn’t find any proof, but something was off with her eyes in that video. There was a fleck of gold in the center of her iris common in certain inhumans. Shapeshifters, mostly.”

Bucky could barely process what was happening. He’d been through more in his life than anyone else could have survived; been tortured at the hands of sadistic men, his memories wiped and destroyed, forced to kill for an organization he never agreed to, and yet, nothing hit him with an overwhelming anguish quite like finding out you were still alive.

It was the very thing he found himself praying for to a God he wasn’t entirely sure he believed in; for this all to be a horrible joke and for you to come walking in through the door with the smile on your face that brought butterflies to his stomach, for you to grab his hand and drag him on whatever adventure you had in store whether it was going into the city to remind him of where he grew up or sitting in your room watching movies and getting popcorn in your bed.

It was what he dreamed of and yet, he couldn’t help but think of every day since the video in Times Sqaure that he wasn’t looking for you, wasn’t actively searching to find you and bring you home. He’d given himself over to the soldier just to find some relief from the grief in his chest that he didn’t even stop to consider it was just another ploy by Hydra to torture him and the team, to make them believe you were dead. He stopped looking for you. He gave up on you. He left you in the hands of the very same people who ripped and tore and destroyed him until he was only a shell of who he used to be.

He let that happen to you.

He felt sick.

Nausea swept up Bucky’s stomach and suddenly he was leaning over a trashcan, heaving the contents of his stomach in dry, angry retches. A hand ran over his back, Steve’s, and he groaned at the horrid taste of bile on his tongue. Sam quickly jogged over and handed him a bottle of water with a tight-lipped smile. Bucky took it gratefully and gurgled the remaining stomach contents from his mouth, spitting it into the can.

“It’s a lot to process, I know,” Dr. Cho continued with a steady hand, “but she’s still under the sedation for now. I imagine she’ll wake in a few hours and she’ll be… confused. Scared, probably. Her physical shape is better than I would have expected but we don’t know what they’ve done to her mind. She should have a familiar face in there.”

All eyes fell on Bucky and he clenched his jaw, feeling unnerved by their stares, the automatic assumption that it would be him that you woke up to. Before today, he might not have ever questioned it, would have stepped up before the idea was even proposed. He’d always been the one sitting at your bedside after missions that landed you in the med wing, holding your hand as you slept and pulling away the moment he realized you were waking. He’d be met with your soft smile, a light grunt, and you’d ask him what happened with a pained laugh. It was where he was supposed to be.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

“I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, thrown. He ushered for the rest of the team to back off, giving him the space to talk to Bucky alone. As the team retreated to separate chairs around the waiting room, Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “What are you talking about, Buck? You know she’s gonna want to see you, don’t you?”

“What if…” Bucky let out an aching sigh, and he could feel the words spilling from his tongue before he could stop them, “what if she doesn’t know me? Or what if she does and she hates me for giving up on her? What if—”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Steve interrupted, offering Bucky a kind smile. “You won’t know how she’ll react until you go in there. Trust me Buck, no matter what happens, she’ll find her way back. You did.”

Bucky nodded, though it didn’t ease the tension in his chest. He supposed Steve was right. He had been in your place before, been put through torture at the hands of Hydra and believed to be dead while the rest of the world turned on. He’d been at the worst in his life and he still found a way to swim to the surface. It was because of you, because of Steve and this makeshift family that he was able to survive what happened to him. He’d have to find a way to do it for you, too.

“You’ll be here?” Bucky asked nervously, dropping his gaze to the floor quickly from the shame of it. He couldn’t admit he was afraid to be alone with you, afraid that you might revolt at the sight of him, but knowing Steve was out here, acting as his lifeline, made it feel a little less terrifying.

Steve smiled, giving a reassuring nod. “I’m not going anywhere, pal.”

As Bucky took his first steps down the long hallway, he was certain he had fire in his veins. He glanced back at the team as they waited in the lobby, the only eyes on him were Steve’s, giving him gentle encouragement to keep going. He pushed past the double doors and a muffled silence fell over the hall as they closed behind him. All he could hear was the gentle clicking of a heart monitor in the distance.

He passed four rooms on his left, three on his right, all empty before he came up to the one the beeping was coming from. His hands were clenched painfully at his side, unable to take the step to turn the corner into your room because it meant seeing you for the first time in months, truly seeing you. He’d been too in shock, too out of it outside the garage where you were found to really see you, unconvinced that he was even awake.

“She’s still asleep,” Dr. Cho’s voice came from behind him, soft, encouraging. He watched as she paced around to his front, glancing into your room with a gentle smile. “We washed the blood off so she doesn’t look nearly as bad as we would have expected. Looks like she’s been eating okay, hasn’t lost much weight. No significant physical injuries.”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little more at ease, prepared to walk into your room. “Where did the blood come from then?”

Dr. Cho shrugged. “That I’m not sure. It’s not hers though. She may have sustained it in the escape.”

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t even considered that you had escaped. Maybe it was his twisted mind but he instinctively assumed that it was Hydra who left you on their doorstep, as their final blow, to remind the avengers that Hydra held power over them, could manipulate them and rip them from the inside out. He assumed that it was just another reminder that they they’d failed you in the worst possible way, a new layer of torture. It was agonizing enough for it to be.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dr. Cho called quietly, pulling him from his trance and Bucky met her eye. She pressed out a kind smile. “Y/n is _alive_. Focus on that.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled sincerely, trying to re-center himself. He watched for a moment as Dr. Cho disappeared down the hall, the soft clicking of her heels on the tile echoing with every step. He waited until he could no longer hear the tapping of her shoes and closed his eyes, taking in a heavy breath before he turned the corner to your room.

As he stepped inside, his hand gripped at the frame of the door, needing something to hold onto as he finally let himself take you in. Covered by the thin cotton sheets of the hospital bed and a light blue t-shirt and sweats the nursing team must have changed you into, you laid on your back, arms resting down at your sides, head dropped just slightly over to the right, chin pressed to chest, eyes closed.

To his right, a pile of your clothes sat folded upon the countertop, black fabric discolored in deep maroon, and he did his best to ignore it as he made his way to the chair at the side of your bed.

It was like a dream and none it felt real. Bucky was sure he’d wake up at any moment and you’d be ripped away from him again, left alone to cold embrace of the dark, by himself in a room that never felt warm enough without you in it. He collapsed into the soft cushioning; an expense Tony had splurged for after the frequency in which the team was getting hurt in the field. Plastic framing wasn’t cutting it anymore.

So, Bucky carefully slid the chair closer to your bed and tried to relax into the pillowy seat, but it was too soft, kept him on edge, and he let his eyes roam your body. There were scars coating your skin, more than he knew to be on your body the last time he’d seen you; scars that had healed and faded with time, but they had been angry once, red and oozing, infected. His eyes trailed up to your collarbone and he was relieved to find the bones weren’t protruding the way they had been in the videos Hydra sent to the media in the months you’d been missing; ones that were confirmed to be you, at least. They’d been starving you at one point and you’d become weak and gaunt because of it. For some reason, they started feeding you again; well eventually, because muscle had started to build again on your bones.

Then, with bated breath, Bucky caught sight of your face; the face that calmed him, that soothed him just by walking into a room, and if he tried hard enough he could pretend you were sleeping, like this was just some mission gone wrong and you’d wake up soon with that sweet smile and a laugh that made his stomach weak and ask him what happened.

But he didn’t live in fantasies. He didn’t trust his reality to be anything but cold and cruel.

He could still see the faded outline of the scar on your cheekbone that had been present in one of the first videos. Without thinking, his right hand reached out and brushed a thumb across the faded scar, feather light movements, and your nose scrunched softly at the touch. Bucky pulled back instantly, flinching away like he’d burned you.

Clenching at his jaw, he slumped back into the seat, unable to tear his eyes away from you. Your eyes were still closed, still under the effects of the sedation, and Bucky sighed of relief. He knew there would be a time soon when you woke up, when you saw him sitting next to you, and he wasn’t prepared for that just yet.

He leaned forward, gathering your hand in his and he choked back a sob he hadn’t realized he had been on the verge of. He brushed his eyes with his wrist, pressing his lips carefully to your knuckles, an intimate gesture he only dared to do when you were asleep, when you couldn’t see how much he loved you, how much he had fallen for you, the feelings only growing the longer he knew you until they consumed him with a brightness he never thought he’d be privileged to again.

Hand pressed tightly in his own, Bucky leaned against the bed, his forehead against the edge of the cot. His eyes were heavy, his body tired and aching, and he wondered if he just closed his eyes for a minute, maybe then, he’d be ready when you woke up.

If he just closed his eyes for a minute…

–

_This wasn’t Bucky’s first mission, not even with the Avengers. He’d been on reconnaissance ops with Sam, undercover at a dingy money laundering poker tournament in the basement of a Chinese takeout joint with Barton, halfway around the world fighting organized crime with Steve. He knew his place in the field, felt more secure there than almost anywhere else._

_But this was his first mission with you._

_You winked at him from your seat in the quinjet as it landed in an open field on the outskirts of Vienna, unfastening the buckles on your seatbelt and jumping up to gather your weapons from the wall. Bucky watched as you bounced with every step, excited almost, and he couldn’t suppress the smile on his face as you lit up the moment you caught sight of him staring at you. Bucky chuckled under his breath, trying to rid himself of the nerves, and removed his own restraints._

_He’d been officially instated as an Avenger only six months prior and he still managed to feel like he fit perfectly in place by your side. You handed him his rifle and a handgun he strapped to his jacket without having to ask. You just knew._

_Steve and Natasha had already taken off for the east wing of the building while Sam and Tony flew overhead to check for infrared and anything out of the usual. You and Bucky had been assigned to the west wing, tasked with downloading intelligence straight from the personal computer of the arms’ dealer you were ambushing. It was your specialty after all and Bucky was essentially the hired gunmen to watch your back. He didn’t mind. The idea of keeping an eye on you was one that helped ease the nerves in his stomach being in the field with you. This way, he didn’t have to trust anyone but himself to keep you safe._

_“You know,” you said as you disembarked from the quinjet, shutting the hatch behind you and waiting patiently for Bucky to follow, “maybe when we’re done here, you’ll let me take you to that record store I was telling you about. Old man like you might like having a record player, huh?”_

_Bucky pressed his lips to a tight smile. “I think the Splatifly playlist is just fine, doll.”_

_“Spotify,” you corrected cheekily as you kicked in the door to the first floor. You took out a guard as he passed by with little hesitation, turning back to him with a grin. “Records just have a different sound, Buck, or did you forget?”_

_Bucky laughed, following close behind as you made your way down the hall, weapons raised. “You find a way to put that playlist of yours on a record for me and I’ll get a record player.”_

_“Buck,” you whined playfully and he took out a guy who turned the corner before you could spot him, “I can suggest albums for you too, you know. There’s a lot more music out there than that one playlist. Besides, I made it months ago at this point.”_

_“I don’t mind.”_

_Bucky shrugged, pushing past you to grab the door, giving you a quick signal before he yanked it open and you stepped through, taking out three men on sight while Bucky took out the remaining two. Bodies fell to the ground and you turned back to him with a pout._

_“You must be bored of it by now. It’s outdated,” you continued, a hand perched on your hip and Bucky wondered if he ever saw anything as endearing and perfect as you. Holding a Glock in one hand, dressed in black Kevlar, with a grin as wide as your cheeks on your face; sweet and deadly, soft and lethal. He was more taken with you than he dared to admit._

_“Yeah, well, so am I, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled as he shoved a body aside with his foot to clear a path for you to the computers. You followed behind him, grabbing a hold of his shoulder as you stumbled and brushed it off with a laugh and a flush in your cheeks._

_You pulled the flash drive from your pocket. “I’m going to extract the intel. You want to double check the hallway?”_

_“You think I missed someone?” he teased, nudging you in the shoulder and the giggle that left your lips was the sweetest sound he ever heard._

_“Course not,” you replied with a grin, “but I can’t work with you hovering over my shoulder.”_

_“Naturally,” he agreed sarcastically, shaking his head as he stepped back to give you the space you needed. He watched from a careful distance as you kicked aside the rolling chair and typed away at the keyboard. Green lettering on black screen. Code he couldn’t begin to understand._

_With one final check back to make sure you were clear, Bucky stepped out into the hallway. It was quiet, not a soul in sight. He straightened his back and pressed a finger to the com in his ear._

_“Should be out soon,” he said into the mic, “Y/n’s abstracting the intel now.”_

_“Good work,” Steve’s voice replied, grainy and a little out of breath, “get out when you can. There’s more of their guys our way than we anticipated and – oomf!”_

_“You good?”_

_“Fine,” Steve grunted out. “Just finish up there so we can get out of this place, okay?”_

_Bucky laughed, turning to head back into the room. As he stepped inside, he saw the movement of the guard on the floor too late. You were at the computer, turning to face him with a smile on your face and the flash drive in your hand because you finished just in time, but the reflective edge of a knife caught your attention and there wasn’t enough time for you to pick up your gun or react before it was plunged into your stomach. You fell to your knees and something carnal and rabid tore through Bucky._

_He rushed forward, yanking the guard away from you and firing the rest of his clip into the man’s chest before he kicked the body a good twenty feet away for measure. You were on the ground, legs too weak to hold you up, hands clutching at the blood gushing from your stomach._

_“Shit, shit, shit,” Bucky cursed rapidly under his breath as his hands hovered over you, too afraid to even lay a hand on your body, terrified he might make it worse._

_“That’s not good, huh?” you mumbled, words slurring, and Bucky looked up to your face in horror to find blood dripping from your lips._

_He wanted to scream, wanted to give into the shaking in his hands and the fear paralyzing him, but he knew you wouldn’t make it if he did. The very idea made him sick to his stomach. So, in haste, he gathered you into his arms and held you tight against his chest, as he lifted you into the air._

_“I need a med evac,” Bucky said into the coms, his voice unsteady, rushed._

_“What’s going on?” Sam replied and Bucky couldn’t find the words to respond._

_“Y/n’s hurt,” Bucky gasped out, his grip on you so tight he was sure he’d leave bruising behind, “I need— fuck! — I need a way out of here, now!”_

_“Head to the northwest exit,” Sam instructed, voice stern and calm, everything Bucky couldn’t be. “I’ll meet you there.”_

_Bucky nodded and he pushed his way out into the hallway, relieved to find it empty. He turned down a corridor and ran as fast as he could manage._

_“Buck,” you gurgled, eyes falling heavy as you curled up against his chest._

_“No! No, don’t you do that!” Bucky shouted, shaking you until you opened your eyes again. “You need to stay awake, you hear me? Don’t you dare close your eyes!”_

_You nodded sleepily, lulling your head against his shoulder. Panic lived in his veins and he was struggling to breath; not from the exertion but from the fear of losing you, of this being it. He couldn’t fathom it. He needed more time with you. Tears started to blur his vision no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay._

_When he looked down at you, you were watching him, struggling to keep your eyes open._

_“That’s right. Stay with me, sweetheart,” Bucky pleaded, “I’ve got you.”_

_He spotted the exit at the end of the hallway, the door opening on the other side and light seeping in. The end of the tunnel. He was so close, just feet away, and he glanced down at you to tell you just that, but your lids were falling shut, your head slumping against his shoulder, arm falling flatly by your side._

_“Y/n! Wake up!” he shouted, desperate now as he reached the end of the hall. Sam stood on the other end of the door. Bucky shook you, but it did no use. “Come on!”_

_“Barnes, give her to me,” Sam requested urgently and Bucky only held you tighter against his chest. He knew Sam could get you to the help you needed, help Bucky wasn’t able to provide himself, and it took every ounce of strength he could manage before he passed you over. The weight of your body left his arms feeling cold and empty._

_Sam didn’t waste any time as he took off into the air. He was reporting to Steve what was going on, where he was taking you, but Bucky could hardly focus. He was covered in your blood._

_Sam managed to get you to the cradle on the quinjet and stabilized you while the rest of the team sprinted back. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes away from the machine the entire flight home; had Sam explain how it worked about twenty different times because he was terrified you were going to bleed out before they even got you home._

_But by some miracle, you’d made it. Mostly. Dr. Cho had stitched up the wound and the fixed any damage beneath the surface, hanging a blood bag to replace what you’d lost. Your hand was clenched between his, pressed to his forehead as he leaned against the cot._

_The moment he heard a groan pass your lips; eyes shot up at you to find you wincing as you came to. He released your hand before you could notice his hold on to. You laid eyes on him and relief seemed to pour through you and a smile grazed your face._

_“Hey Buck,” you whispered, voice hoarse, and he nearly laughed through the lump in his throat. He grinned, reaching forward and brushing a hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You were warm under his touch and the smile that followed was enough to ease any pain he’d felt since you’d been hurt._

_“Hey sweetheart.”_

_–_

A soft rustle of a groan and Bucky snapped awake, jumping up from his position leaning against the bed, creases of the sheets on his cheek, as wide eyes locked upon you. A broken whimper cried from your throat as you scrunched your shoulders, head darting to the other side of the pillow. Your hand clenched in his, legs squirming under the sheets.

“Y/n?” Bucky called as gently as his could, caressing your hand and trying to ease the tension from your locked fist. Bucky leaned forward, using the cool side of his left hand to touch over your forehead, brushing away the beads of sweat that had formed while he slept. You were warm under the sensors of his metal plates and he gritted his teeth, looking to the hallway to see if Dr. Cho was nearby.

He wondered briefly if he should leave for just a moment, to find someone better than him who could help ease you through whatever was happening in your head, but the idea of stepping away, even for a second, was too painful.

You groaned, the soft ache of a tremor in your voice and Bucky watched with his heart in his throat as your eyes slowly fluttered open. You swallowed, breaths incredibly shallow as you looked around the room, staring straight ahead, your entire body stiff as a board. You didn’t seem to even notice his hand still wrapped tightly around yours.

He licked at his hips, unsure of what to say or how to shake you from whatever trance you were in, so he spoke a name that was familiar to you, one that he reserved only for you, hoping it might bring you back down from the clouds.

“Sweetheart?”

In sharp movements, you sprung up suddenly from the bed and Bucky dropped your hand in the shock of it. Before he could quite react, you’d thrown yourself off the far side of the cot, stumbling over to the counter, your grip on the surface barely able to keep you on your feet. You were struggling to stand, legs wobbling under you from the sedation, and your breaths were coming in fast, _too fast_ , and he was sure you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“Hey, hey, hold on now,” Bucky urged, trying his best to stay calm as your hand slid over the counter, knocking various items to the ground in haste before you grabbed a tight hold of a pair of scissors. You spun around to face him, breaths panting, arms shaking, hair erratic, and you held out the sharp end of the scissors at him. Bucky threw his arms in the air defensively.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he begged, taking a careful step towards you only for you to jump back. He bit on his lip, pushing aside the awful pain in his stomach to watch you retreat from him in fear. You’d never done that before, not even when he’d been triggered into the soldier. He took a step back, away from you to give you space.

“Y/n, it’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You didn’t react, staring at him like he was something in your dreams.

“You’re safe,” he pleaded, a little desperate now, eyeing the scissors in your hand and wondering how fast he’d need to dive before you threw them at him. “You’re home. The whole teams been waiting for you to wake up.”

Your eyes darted around the room, like you were trying to catch your bearings, trying to recognize a familiar space, one you’d been in dozens of times before. Bucky took the risk of moving a step in your direction while you were distracted by the soft whites and greys of the med bay and you didn’t flinch on his approach. A steady breath in and he moved closer until he stood within your reach.

“I need you to give me the scissors, okay? No is going to hurt you,” Bucky said, his voice low and raspy from the lump burning in the back of his throat. He tried to still the shaking in his hand as he noticed tears welling in your eyes, glassy and red. “I’m not going to hurt you. Please, sweetheart. _You know me._ You’re safe here.”

His hand ghosted over yours, your grip weakening on the scissors as you stared straight ahead to his chest, unable to meet his eye. You were shaking, hands trembling, and Bucky was terrified.

“Y/n, please look at me.” He could barely hear his own voice as a tear slid down the side of your face, your jaw clenching so tightly muscles twitched through your cheek.

Slowly, your eyes trailed up his chest, until eventually you met his eye, filled with tears and bated breaths. You stared at him, eyes darting over his features like you were trying to convince yourself he was real, that this wasn’t a dream or a sick, twisted nightmare. Lips parting as if to speak, trembling as you struggled to find words, but eventually, in a raspy, broken sound, you choked out his name.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes for only a moment. The relief of your voice, even as shattered and numbed as it was, flooded through his body in warmth and solace and heaven. He nodded; his face wet with tears as a sob cracked through you, deafening and puncturing his heart through his chest. The scissors dropped from your quivering hand and the clash of metal against tile filled the room.

You threw yourself at him, arms crushing around his body as you dug your face into the crook of his neck, squeezing and pulling and unable to get as close as you needed even with your body flush against his.

Bucky didn’t know how to react, too stunned and feeling like he could wake up at any moment, but he wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you as tight against him as he could manage. As you brushed tears against his neck and your back shook with sobs, Bucky kissed at your hair, trying to soothe you in the ways you knew so well to care for him, but he was never any good at this, not like you were. But he loved you and you were alive _and in his arms_ , so he poured every ounce of his relief into his embrace.

“I’m here, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he whispered against your hair, trying to carefully guide you back to the bed when he felt your legs unsteady under you. You only gripped him tighter, like you were afraid he might leave, and it sent an awful pang to his chest. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, love. I’m here.”

“I don’t–” you gasped against him, your breath warm against his neck and you didn’t dare pull away, “I don’t understand. I don’t– I don’t know how I got here.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember?”

You shook your head, your grip on him only growing tighter, like you were grounding yourself against him, tethering yourself to the Earth through his body to remind you of what was real. Wrapped so tightly around him, it hurt a little against his ribs, made it a bit harder to breathe, but Bucky would have scarified a lot more than his breath and mild discomfort to ease even an ounce of your pain.

“I– I don’t know. I don’t– there’s gaps,” you stuttered out, pulling away from him just enough for Bucky to see the hesitancy in your features, the confusion, and the fear. “I don’t know… I don’t…”

“It’s alright, doll, it’s okay,” Bucky cooed softly as he helped you back to the bed. You were getting lightheaded, delirious to the point of panic, your eyes falling heavy, and he needed to get you to rest before you hurt yourself.

With a steady hand, he eased you back onto the bed, sitting on the edge of the cot because you wouldn’t let his hand out of your grip and he had no intention of taking it from you. The more contact against you, the calmer you seemed. He kept his thigh pressed against yours, his hand intertwined in your own, metal digits running soothingly over your arm.

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky promised gently, pushing out a soft smile for you. You nodded slowly, curling up in the bed and letting your lids close, too exhausted to keep them open any longer. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll find some answers for you.”

A soft groan vibrated through your chest in acknowledgement.

“Try and get some sleep,” he requested quietly, resting his feet on the chair beside the bed and settling in on the edge of the bed, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

It only took a few seconds before your heart rate settled down, the soft beeps of the monitor hanging above you pulsing at even, steady intervals, until your breaths became longer, calmer, and you’d fallen asleep, pulled back under the sedation in your bloodstream.

Bucky clenched at his jaw, trying to keep himself from giving into the sob slowly etching his way through his back, but it broke through him anyway. The relief of you being so close, the pain of knowing you’d been alive all this time, was too much for his body to handle and it flooded out of him in tears and gasps for breath and muffled cried as he tried to stay silent.

After he was able to calm himself again and the tears dried, he leaned forward and gingerly ran his fingers over the long faded scar on your cheekbone; the same one he saw the day the first video aired on the news. It was thick and raised under his fingers, still discolored and angry.

As he watched the careful rise and fall of your chest, the gentle vibrations of your breaths, Bucky found the questions surging in the back of his mind didn’t matter as much, not right now. Not as he held your hand in his, warm to the touch, and you lying so close to him. Nothing else mattered because you were here, you were alive, and he wasn’t going to let you go for anything.

Not again.


	10. Ten

Someone asked you a question but you couldn’t quite hear it over the buzzing in your ears.

Bucky’s hand gripped tightly in yours was the only constant keeping you from spinning. A soft squeeze every few seconds, reminding you that you weren’t dreaming, that this wasn’t some kind of sick ploy by Hydra to keep you compliant or submissive. It reminded you that it was really Bucky under your touch, Bucky who’s gentle reassuring smiles flash in your direction and Bucky who’s thumb traced over the back of your hand when he noticed the beep of the heart monitor tick faster for even a second too long.

You swallowed thickly, keeping your eyes trained on the end of your cot because there were too many people in the room, more people than you’d been around in months, and while they were all people you loved, it was taking all of your energy to keep steady breaths.

A squeeze in your hand and you turned to your right. Bucky offered you a reassuring smile, gentle and kind, and the blue of his eyes eased the tension in your chest. You nodded, drawing in a deep breath as you turned back to the team.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Tony tucked his hands into his pockets, shrugging off your apology. He exchanged a glance with Steve cautiously before he spoke again. “Because of the, um, _circumstances_ of the last video, we’ll need to ask you some questions to confirm you are who you say you are.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, glaring at Tony. Clearly, that wasn’t how he worded it the first time. “Cho already cleared her, Stark, and she’s barely even been conscious for a few hours. We don’t have to put her through that again.”

Tony clenched his jaw. He was about as happy about asking the questions as Bucky was hearing it. “Helen only cleared her physically. Shifters can be incredibly deceptive. They can take on scars and superficial markings, but they don’t replicate memories. We haven’t had a chance to talk to her until now and it’s the only way to prove she’s our Y/n.”

Bucky shook his head gritting his teeth and you watched as anger fumed from the red in his cheeks.

“I’m not going to interrogate her, Barnes,” Tony pressed, offering you a tight smile, “we just have to be sure. After what happened… you of all people should want that.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to Tony and he nearly jumped up from his seat next to your bed to lunge at Tony if it wasn’t for your gentle tug on his hand. He turned back to you, slowly, and you nodded at him, curving the edges of your lips to a smile despite the ache in your cheeks.

You couldn’t help but wonder what Tony meant by that, what had happened to Bucky in the months he believed you to be dead, but you pushed it from your mind. A steady breath in and you straightened your spine.

“I’ll do it,” you said, willing your voice less nervous than you felt. “I don’t mind.”

Tony smiled in relief. He gripped at the plastic railing at the end of the cot before he glanced back up at you. “They’ll be personal questions. Stuff only you would know.”

“Okay,” you responded and Bucky’s hand squeezed yours. You didn’t notice the beep of the heart monitor increase.

To your surprise, Tony stepped back against the wall, and it was Natasha that stepped forward. She brushed past Tony, giving Steve a subtle nod as he touched her shoulder encouragingly, before she took a seat on the edge of the bed. One leg handing off the side and the other tucked up under her lap, she exhaled a heavy breath.

She hadn’t let herself believe it was you, you realized. Her face was too cold, too numbed. Your best friend who had been nothing but impenetrably strong in all the years you’d known her and she was crumbling behind deteriorating walls and cracks in her defenses.

“Our first mission together,” she started, voice low, calculating, “you trusted me when no one else did; when the others were calling me a soviet spy behind my back and speculating about the red in my ledger. Why?”

You bit your lower lip between your teeth, thinking back to the mission in Boston, where you stood with her on the corner of Bay State and Raleigh, waiting for your mark to emerge from a brownstone apartment overlooking the Charles River. She was uneasy, putting too much distance between you because she had spent years as a single operative and wasn’t used to working on a team, wasn’t used to the prospect of trust.

One of the agents had forgotten to turn off his com and a snide joke about her past echoed through the speakers, enough to make her cringe, and you hadn’t even taken an extra breath before you’d ripped the agent a new one from where you stood halfway across the city, listing his own mistakes in the field and reminding him swiftly that Natasha Romanoff displayed more bravery in the choice to defect to SHIELD after what she’d been through than he had in his entire career. He shut up after that.

You smiled softly, remembering the cool breeze and the sound of traffic and chatter passing by, as she hesitantly asked why you trusted her so much.

“It was Barton,” you replied, confident, the conversation you had with her clearly coming back to you. “He made a call, chose to stake his career at SHIELD on it because he knew there was more to you than what he’d been told, that you had the potential to be more, _greater_ , than what the red room made you. A call like that? It wasn’t one I planned on disregarding lightly and once we met, you gave me no reason to prove him wrong.”

Natasha grinned at you, almost in a laugh, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She brushed the tears from her eyes.

“I think I said something to that effect,” you shrugged, lips pulling up in a tight laugh as Nat squeezed your free hand. She turned back to Tony with a nod, her signal of approval, and you felt Bucky’s grip tighten on your hand for a brief moment. You met his eye and he smiled softly at you, proud.

“Guess I’m up,” Sam said as he stepped forward. He stood at the edge of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. You looked up at him, feeling a little more confident now that you’d passed Nat’s test and she was standing in the corner, giving you a short thumbs up and a reassuring smile when you glanced in her direction.

Through narrowed eyes, hardened features, he studied you for a moment before he spoke and you felt a sudden rush of nerves up your spine. You’d never been on the receiving end of anything other than light hearted jokes and cheesy smiles from Sam, so seeing him like this, wearing a scowl and a clench in his jaw, unnerved you.

He leaned in, eyeing you up before he asked in a slow, deep voice, “What’s my favorite ice cream flavor?”

Tony rolled his eyes as Sam’s lips curved up into a huge smile. Bright and bold and covering half his face, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey, listen, only Y/n would know, right? She’s in charge of ice cream nights. We’re all aware of that, yes?” Sam defended himself, sending you a wink.

“Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey,” you replied easily without skipping a beat, “with chocolate syrup and m&m’s sprinkled on top.”

“It’s like he’s a twelve year old boy,” Tony scoffed, but Sam ignored him; all smiles and giving you a nod of approval.

“She’s clear in my book,” Sam stated walking back to his corner of the room and nestling against the wall. You watched him with a grin on your face, feeling light and at ease for the first time in months. He winked again and you only smiled wider.

But then Steve came forward. He wore a stern expression, one of a solemn nature too, and it wiped the smile from your face quickly.

“Three years ago, you were on a reconnaissance mission in Guatemala,” Steve began, giving no time for short introductions or greetings. He needed to get this over with you realized quickly, so you nodded, following his timeline. “I contacted you through the secure line with a code phrase that signaled you to return home at your first availability. What was the code word?”

You blinked a few times, mouth agape. Your mind was a blank slate.

“Steve,” Bucky warned, “those codes change every mission. No one should be expected to remember that.”

“Y/n would,” Steve argued, staring at you and you felt unsettled under his gaze.

You tried to rack your brain, thinking back to the details of the mission the best you could. You had been tailing a Russian operative for weeks by the time you got the call from Steve, that much you remembered. He was a guy by the name of Alexi Chekov, a soviet agent sent to make a deal with an organized crime syndicate in Villa Nueva.

“It was, um,” you started, hoping the answer would fall from your lips as you went, but still nothing. Steve exchanged a worried look with Tony and Bucky gritted at his teeth.

“This can’t be necessary, Steve,” Bucky urged as he noticed the way your eyes were darting at the foot of your bed, hand gripping his tightly, the steady beep of your heart rate upon the monitor increasing. “We know it’s her. Just look at her!”

“All due respect, Buck, but we all watched our friend get shot in the head on live television,” Steve snapped, a surprising kind of anger in his voice. “As much as I want this to be real, and it feels pretty damn real, so did that video. I have to be sure that _this_ isn’t the trick. I know for a fact that only our Y/n would know this so I… I need her to remember, Buck. I need this confirmation. You’ve got to understand that.”

Bucky held Steve’s gaze, challenging one another, until you spoke up again.

“Just give me a minute,” you requested softly, tugging on Bucky’s hand until he met your eye and you nodded at him, letting him know you were okay. You turned to Steve. “I’ll remember. My memories are just… messy right now. I need a minute.”

Steve nodded, stepping back to give you space.

As you thought back, you closed your eyes, trying to picture the mountains, the striking greenery, the heat and humidity on your skin. Sweat dripping off your shoulders and thick warm air in your lungs. You were never meant to engage with Chekov, only to observe, and you had been watching him from a table outside of a small café as he talked with a man at the end of a long alleyway.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and it almost startled you because that phone never went off without urgent need. Keeping your eyes trained on Chekov, you had pulled the phone from your pocket, a single, secure line reflected on the caller ID, the only number with access to this phone and you answered. Steve’s voice on the other end and he spoke a single word.

_What was it?_

It wasn’t Pelican. That was the return home code from your mission in Paris with Barton.

Couldn’t be Delta or Binghamton. Those were too recent.

He’d used Cambridge, Havana, and Moscato when you’d been on missions with Bucky.

You groaned, teeth clenching as you searched through the back of your mind, and you could feel Bucky’s grip on your hand tighten. Your heart rate must have sky rocketed because he was starting to argue with Steve again, telling him to back off, to give you space.

“No, I can do this,” you insisted sternly, eyes still closed, and Bucky silenced immediately.

Your memories were distorted, that much you knew. The pieces of how you ended up back at the Avengers compound were lost on you so it was safe to assume Hydra had done something to mess with your memories. It effected your long term, too, it seemed.

But you were determined, needed to prove that you were exactly who you said you were because these people were your family and you needed them to trust you, needed to be able to trust them too, implicitly, because you’d been through too much already to have to survive it alone.

You let out a steady breath, putting yourself back at that café in Villa Nueva. The bitter taste of coffee on your tongue. The smell of fresh meats and spices in the air, and your stomach was growling, but there was no time for that as you watched Chekov exchange a handshake with the unknown man. Your memory brought you back to the phone call, the buzz in your pocket that made your heart jump, and you answered.

The codes all had meaning. They weren’t just made up words Steve would pick randomly out of a dictionary. He’d sit down with you before missions and make sure it was something you’d remember, something that would bring you home without hesitation. So, what was happening at home before you left?

Bucky.

Bucky was being pardoned by the president for crimes he’d committed under Hydra’s control. He was coming to live at the compound, a compromise set by the attorney general, but you’d be gone before he arrived. Steve had been worried about him, nervous about how the team would take to him and if he’d forgive himself for the first encounter he had with most of them while he’d been the soldier.

It always came back to Bucky.

A breath of relief, and you opened your eyes.

“Sergeant,” you answered, the code word coming back to you, and Steve exhaled a long held breath. He nodded, a smile tugging at his cheeks.

“I knew it,” he sighed as he allowed the stiffness in his shoulders to fall. “It’s so good to have you home, Y/n.”

A tension quickly faded from the room.

“Tony, I think it’s your turn,” you offered, feeling a little more in control of your memories, but he held his hands up.

“I’ve got all the proof I need, kid.”

You turned to Bucky to find him smiling at you, proud, lips curved so subtly but enough for the blue in his eyes to soften to a gentle hue, something that made your stomach weak.

“What about you, Buck? I could list every song on the playlist I made you or tell you the first book I forced you read or the path around the compound we used to run or–”

“You’ve convinced me, doll,” Bucky interjected gently, his hand brushing over yours and tracing delicate patterns on your skin, “from the second I saw you. I’m good. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

He brought your hand to his lips, kissed at your broken knuckles, and you watched him with awe. He’d never done something like that before, certainly not around others, not with that kind of ease and grace like he didn’t have even an ounce of hesitation. A tear slipped past your eye before you realized it, and Nat rushed forward, brushing it away and wrapping her arms around you in a tight embrace, though she was careful of the various scars on your body.

Steve and Sam laughed in the corner of the room while Tony observed from his quiet spot at the end of the bed. Bucky’s hand not leaving yours for even an instant. You had your family back and you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the gaps in your memories or the hell you’d endured in the last seven months.

***

Dr. Cho cleared you to leave the med bay a week later. Your body was stronger than they anticipated, displayed evidence that you’d been training and well fed in recent months, though you still couldn’t remember much of that.

It was harder than you thought to reacclimate to the compound. To get back to your normal life.

You found yourself unable to sleep on the soft surface of your bed, opting for the floor and sometimes finding yourself waking up to Bucky’s soft snores in the morning, realizing he had found his way from his own room to your floor at some point in the night. He was never far away, his hand only inches from yours like he had held it in his own in the middle of the night.

You had a hard time stomaching any of the food the team tried to prepare for you, even your old favorites, finding them too sweet, too potent; that in contrast to the stale bread you’d survived on for months, anything else was overwhelming to your senses. Natasha started making her homemade bread again and you started to reintroduce foods by adding a tablespoon of jam, or a slice of turkey breast, until eventually you could eat a sandwich without heaving it up an hour later.

The worst though, were the moments when you forgot where you were. When you woke up in the dead of night, screaming and shaking, believing you were back in that cell until Bucky rushed in, throwing on the lights, and holding you until you believed he was real. He’d whisper reassurances in your ear and hold you so tight against his chest, the compression alone was enough to pull your mind away from its haze. It never took him long to reach you and you started to wonder if he was sleeping on the floor outside your room. You’d found a pillow there one morning but lost the courage to ask him about it.

Some days, when you weren’t expecting it, you’d flinch violently away from any kind of touch, even when it came from Bucky, and he’d retreat with wide, fearful eyes. Embarrassment and shame would seep through you and he’d look down at his hand like he wanted to set it on fire for making you feel so afraid, if even for a moment.

Healing wasn’t easy and trauma wasn’t something you’d overcome in a week. Your memory was still in pieces and you couldn’t push past the lingering anxiety in the back of your chest, warning you that this wasn’t over, that you weren’t as safe as everyone thought.

***

Two months later and you were spending daily sessions in Dr. Cho’s office, attempting to piece your memory back together. While you had started to eat better, started to sleep through the night and in a bed, started to seek touch instead of run from it, you hadn’t made an ounce of progress with your memories.

They came in through blurry images, detached and unconnected, and you couldn’t stitch them together no matter how hard you tried. With no memories of an escape and only fragmented glimpses of the events following the final video recorded in your cell, you couldn’t help the useless feeling that burned in your chest every time Dr. Cho asked you a question about your captivity.

Bucky stayed out by the door as you asked him to, every session, acting as your protector and ready to ease you away from the distress the sessions caused you, because the not remembering was the worst of it. The idea that Hydra might have done things to you, things you couldn’t remember, was more terrifying than the few pieces you still had vivid images of.

Starving. The chair bolted at the center of the room. A man with a thick, angry scar down his face that carved through his clouded eye. A blonde woman with a camera. A lumpy mattress with sharp springs poking at you. The woman who wore your face. Blood stained red and dark upon the concrete. A second hostage, someone you had talked with, someone you felt a deep, unsettling grief for.

It was all your memory allowed for.

She had you writing in journals, hoping that it would bring something back to you, but no matter how many books you filled, you couldn’t seem to uncover anything from after the video shown in Times Square and even your time before that felt fragmented and distorted. It was chaos inside your head. 

“Why don’t we end here for today,” Dr. Cho said softly and you realized she must have asked you another question. You glanced up at her from your stare on the wall and she was watching you under worried eyes, offering you a tight smile though you could see the lingering tension behind it.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled quickly, but Dr. Cho shook her head.

“No, no it’s alright, Y/n,” she replied, genuine, “it’ll come back. We just need to give it time. Try and let yourself heal in the meantime. These memories… they’ll be distressing when they return. You’ll want to be prepared when they do.”

You nodded slowly, feeling a little uneasy. Dr. Cho knocked on the door and Bucky stepped inside.

He smiled at you encouragingly, as he always did, and never asked about what you talked about in this room, knowing you’d tell him if you needed to and just thankful you were talking about it with someone, even if it wasn’t him. But your smile didn’t come as easy today and his hand snuck into yours and squeezed it, giving you a moment before he led you from the room.

He was so observant, so perceptive to your distress, and you wondered when he had learned to be so attuned to you; if it happened before you were taken or if he had committed to memory the second you returned. Regardless, as Dr. Cho left the room, he helped you back to your feet, even if you didn’t necessarily need the support.

“So, what do you want to do?” Bucky asked with a gentle smile as he led you out into the hallway, allowing your hand to slip away awkwardly. “We could make food and watch a movie? We never finished the series about that wizard kid you liked.”

How he managed to spark the light back into you after feeling trapped in darkness was beyond you.

“Harry Potter,” you confirmed with a laugh, nudging his shoulder as you walked beside him. His hand swayed at his hips and his knuckles brushed yours. You longed to pull his hand into yours again, but couldn’t find the courage, didn’t know if moments like that were reserved for hospital beds and I-almost-lost-you scares, not for walking down the hall in the open like you were.

“Right, Harry Potter,” he repeated, nodding in the memory. “We could try and get your muscles moving again? Maybe go to the gym but take it real easy? I know sitting around was hard for me after…”

He bit his lip, the smile faded from his face. He glanced over at you, nervous, but you met him with a soft, reassuring smile. He was offering you suggestions, giving you choices, in the way you had done for him when he first started getting used to the compound, from coming off the run and his imprisonment with Hydra. He understood that you weren’t used to having choices, that asking you something too broad would send you into overdrive. There were too many possibilities.

So, he offered you easy options. Movie or gym. Quick and easy. Simple. It gave you back a sense of control.

“The gym sounds nice, actually,” you replied, stretching your arm over your chest.

Bucky nodded, the smile returning to his face in a breath of relief. He paused at a doorway and you realized you had made it back to your room.

“I’m gonna run and change and I’ll meet you there?” he asked carefully.

You knew he was trying to give you space, to let you do things on your own, but it was hard for him, hard to be away from you for even a second because he might fall into a trap that convinced himself you weren’t really here and this had all been a dream. But he knew you needed to learn your independence again, so he was working on it. If you were honest, so were you.

You nodded in agreement and watched as Bucky quickly paced down the rest of the short hall and disappeared behind his bedroom door. It physically ached to be apart from him, like every time his back was to you the pain was being dragged away from him that day came rushing back. You tried to remind yourself that you’d see him again in a few minutes, that you wouldn’t be alone for long. It only seemed to ease you for a short while, but that was typically all you needed before he was by your side again.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed your way inside your room.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been in your bedroom since you’d been back, but it still disoriented you every time. It was odd, being back in this space, and having a drawer full of clothes to choose from. The fabric was soft under your fingertips and smelled of laundry detergent and florals. It was almost too sweet, the scent of it. It burned in your nose after spending so much time covered in filth and blood.

You changed quickly, throwing on a pair of leggings and a tank top to keep cool, and grabbed your sneakers from the space by the door. You froze as you picked them up, realizing they hadn’t moved since you’d tossed them off carelessly before your last mission with the team, the mission you were taken by Hydra.

A steady breath in and you tried to control the sudden surge of your heart rate. You focused on the feel of your clothes, the compression of the leggings, the cool air condition fanning down from the vent above, until you felt at ease again. You slipped the sneakers on and jogged your way to the gym, unable to be on your own any longer.

When you stepped into the gym, Bucky was leaning against the padded wall, waiting patiently for you. You waved at him as you jogged your way over, but his smile fell quickly to a frown as he pushed himself off the wall. Narrowing your eyes on him, you were about to ask what was wrong until you noticed the trail of his gaze over your arms.

Faded scars running against your skin like pieces of a mosaic, some sharp and short, others long and jagged, but far more than you ever had before Hydra. You realized suddenly that you’d been in nothing but long sleeves since you’d returned and Bucky hadn’t been exposed to the extent of your torture; torture you never talked about while he was in the room, even the small pieces you remembered, because you knew he’d commit it to memory and find a way to blame himself. He hadn’t even seen the full extent of the scars when you were unconscious in the med bay.

His hand slowly reached out, trembling, and it just barely graze the deepest cut on your left forearm, before he pulled away sharply. He couldn’t meet your eye.

“Bucky, I’m okay,” you urged, reaching towards him but he was too far out of your grasp, “they’ve healed. They don’t hurt anymore.”

“But they happened,” he countered, his voice low and aching.

“They did,” you replied, “and it was horrible and awful, the same way the scars on your shoulder are for you.”

You leaned forward, carefully allowing your fingers to brush over his hands, pulling them against your own and intertwining them together. He let out a heavy exhale. Slowly, he looked up until you were met with stunning blue.

“I’m here, Buck. I survived it. I’m okay.”

He nodded apprehensively, a clench in his jaw, and you knew it was hard for him, but again, he was trying. He forced out a smile for you the best he could.

“Alright, doll.”

You let go of his hands, stepping away nervously and tying your hair up away from your face. Turning back to face the gym, your eyes wandered across the wide variety of equipment and machines until you landed on the ring and an overwhelming rush of warmth and home filled your chest.

“Let’s spar.”

Bucky shook his head, hands raised. “Hold on now. I was kinda expecting we’d walk on the treadmill or sit on a bike at the lowest possible resistance.”

“You asked me what I want to do and this is it,” you argued playfully, backing up and moving closer to the ring as Bucky followed you. “Dr. Cho said my body is healthier than we think it is. Come on, Buck. It’ll make me feel normal, like I’m–” you huffed, looking around the room and feeling a sudden unpleasant twist in your gut, “like I’m not some broken, fucked up POW that’s gonna fall apart at any second.”

The words fell from you before you could stop them and Bucky furrowed his brow, thrown by the sudden self-deprecation that was so unlike the woman he knew.

“You’re not, Y/n,” he said sternly, heartbreak in his face, “and you never once thought that of me, so please don’t think it of yourself.”

“So, spar with me,” you asked again, quieter this time, “please, Buck. I promise to tell you if it’s too much. I just really need to feel like I can do something like I used to before, before what happened, and this, this is something I’m good at. Please.”

After a while of contemplation and a clear war in his head, Bucky conceded. He never could say no to you, so he tossed you the roll of tape and instructed you to wrap your hands. You did so with a smile on your face.

Once you were done, you climbed up into the ring, sliding between the ropes and jumping on the platform to warm your muscles. It was with the same excited energy you carried the last time you sparred with him, and Bucky wrestled between the fond memory and the horror that followed.

As he followed behind, hands taped, and stretching his arms in preparation, he shot you a serious look. “Don’t push yourself, you hear me?”

“Cross my heart, Sergeant,” you replied cheekily and for a moment Bucky forgot about the scars on your arms and the nightmare of the last few months. You were so _you_ and he was thankful beyond words.

You rushed at him hard, determined with something to prove, and got a solid five hooks in before he could touch you. It was unusual for your sparring together. Even when he was holding back the full force of his hits, he always got in a few in between yours. It was a dance.

He backed up until he met the ropes and you swung around him again, pushing him down on the mat quickly. Too quickly. You stood above him, hands planted on your hips and you frowned.

“You’re holding back,” you scolded, offering him a hand to help him back up. “You didn’t even get in a single hit.”

He shrugged, brushing off his pants. “I don’t want to–”

“–hurt me. Yeah, I know,” you finished dejectedly, stepping forward to brush you hand over the cool plates of his left arm, “but if I wanted to hit a punching bag, I would.”

He chuckled at that and the tension started to fade from his muscles. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

He nodded, trying to psych himself up and give in to your request. You started to pace around the ring, circling him like prey, and for once, he was the one to charge first.

You blocked his first hit with your forearm, shoving it aside as you dipped under his arm, kicking him from behind enough for him to stumble a few paces forward. He turned back to you with a newfound smile on his face just as you knew he would and you rushed at him again. It was so familiar, this dance, circling one another and finding solace in the closeness. A laugh even escaped him as you got him on his knees for a second before he jumped back up.

In the ring, you felt normal again, like maybe the last few months had been a dream and you’d never left Bucky’s side at all. For a moment, you’d never been held in that cold, dark cell. You’d never been tortured by the same organization that rendered the love of your life into something outside of himself, something dark and twisted and empty. You’d never been forced to face the possibility that you would die without ever seeing Bucky again.

It was seamless. It was exactly where you were supposed to be. Focusing on Bucky’s breaths and the way he bounced around the ring so light on his feet with a smile that made your stomach ache.

In the moment of your distraction, Bucky clipped your shoulder harder than you were expecting and it sent you spiraling to the ground. You landed on the mat like you’d fallen from three stories above, hard and without time to catch yourself. The air was pushed violently from your lungs.

Suddenly, hands were ghosting over your arms, worried voice littered with concern and panic, but you couldn’t quite hear it, couldn’t feel the soft touch of fingertips upon your skin.

You were cold suddenly, freezing, and darkness blurred your vision. You didn’t move from the ground, eyes staring far off to the wall even as Bucky desperately tried to get your attention. He was shouting, arms waving frantically to someone beyond the doors of the gym, and you could only vaguely register footsteps sprinting towards you.

Red hair dipped into your vision, blurred and distant. It was there; you could see it, but it felt like you were miles away, like you were watching it all play out on a movie screen. You were underwater.

“What the hell happened?” a voice barked, feminine. Red hair swung over shoulders as she faced someone sitting next to you.

“I don’t– I don’t know,” a man replied, scared. A cool surface brushed along your shoulder, hard like metal. “We were sparring and she just—I must have hit too hard and–”

“What the hell were you thinking, Buck?” a deeper voice questioned, one of authority, arms folded over his chest. Short blonde hair. “What made you think she was ready for this?”

“She just wanted to feel normal, Steve! What was I supposed to do?” he argued back, though his hands were shaking as they ran delicately along your arms, “ _Deny her?_ Treat her like she’s made of glass, _like she could just lose it at any second,_ the way you all did to me?!”

“Well look how that turned out, Buck!”

You were lying on concrete. No, on a mattress with exposed springs. Blood stained on the floor not far from you. You started shaking, tears in your eyes and someone was pulling you off the mat, wrapped into strong arms, one colder and harder than the other. He was whispering in your ear words you couldn’t quite make out, but it was soothing, relaxing. A hand brushed over your forehead, wiping away the sweat and the hair from your eyes. Your heartrate started to come down and the haze faded from your vision and your mind.

“I’ll call for Helen,” Nat said, and you realized suddenly that you recognized her voice. She was pulling out her phone, sending a worried glance in Steve’s direction though his eyes were carefully trained on Bucky.

 _Bucky_.

It was his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his breath gently exhaling against your neck as he held you, his voice that had been shaken and scared as it called out for help.

“M’okay,” you muttered, coming back to the surface, shifting slightly in Bucky’s arms.

You felt his breath hitch at your movement, the collective sighs of relief from your friends as they stood at the edge of the ring. The panic on their faces, the fear in Bucky’s eyes as looked down at you, searching to make sure you were alright, set an anxious twist in your stomach.

You clenched your jaw, maneuvering yourself away from his embrace and he let you go without question, though his hands lingered as long as you’d let him before you tugged yourself away completely. You wrapped your arms around yourself, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, honey, don’t apologize,” Nat urged delicately, sinking down to her knees so she sat at your eye level, her hand taking yours in her own. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s mine,” Bucky nodded, voice flat, detached.

“It’s not yours either, James,” Natasha said sternly, flashing a warning look in Steve’s direction before he could say anything. She took a deep breath, squeezing your hand and you found you couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky. “We all know where the blame belongs and it’s with Hydra. There will be setbacks in recovery, Y/n. There always are. But you’ve come further than you’ve fallen back. You have to remember that.”

You took in her words, knowing there was truth in it. Bucky still couldn’t meet your eye.

***

It took another three weeks before Bucky even agreed to step foot in the gym with you again. Helen had told you that it was normal, expected almost, to have flashbacks like that after what you’d been through. Unprepared for the hit on your shoulder, it threw you into a dissociative state and rendered you outside of yourself, your body’s instinctive defense mechanism, to protect you from what it believed was about to come.

But you were safe, you were with Bucky, with your family, in a fortress surrounded by SHEILD agents and superheroes. The trick was convincing your body of that, too.

“Bucky, I can handle it,” you repeated after he’d only shaken his head at you, unwilling to listen to your requests to spar again.

“You said that last time and look what happened,” he sighed, fingers darting through his hair anxiously. “I set that off in you, Y/n. Itriggered it. I was the one who made you feel like that, and I won’t do it again.”

You exhaled a heavy breath, so desperate to feel normal again but knowing that he was right, that you couldn’t throw yourself back into your old routine like nothing had happened. You needed smaller steps.

“Okay,” you conceded and Bucky’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Walk with me?”

He smiled at that, nodding, and let you take his hand in yours as you led him to the outside path around the compound; the same one you used to run together.

Weeks later, the walks turned into infrequent intervals with light jogs. Then, after you regained more strength in your legs and craved blood pumping through your veins, you started to run the entire path with Bucky at your side; laughing and sprinting the final stretch, teasing him about how slow he’d become until you heard the perfect sound of his own laugh as he caught up behind you.

He started to help you reacclimate to the punching bags, something that couldn’t hit you back, and brought Nat in to work with you on shadow boxing, though neither of them would step foot with you in the ring.

Two months since the incident in the ring and you’d spent multiple times a week in Dr. Cho’s office, working through how to handle episodes like that when they came up and sorting through the mess of memories in your head. You were more in control, felt like you had ownership of your mind and your body in a way you had tried so hard to believe when you stepped into the ring with Bucky the first time since you returned. You had wanted to believe it so badly then. You were certain now.

“Hey Buck,” you called his name gently, quietly, and he stilled his movements against the punching back instantly. He turned to you with a smile on his face, just barely there but enough to make your heart swell, hair damp with sweat clinging to the sides of his face and still looking like a dream.

You hesitated for a moment, worried he would say no, and fidgeted in your stance. You wrung your hands together as you met his eye.

“Will you spar with me?”

He clenched his jaw, smile fading.

“I’m ready now,” you insisted, voice stronger because you meant it, “I can handle it, Buck. You know I can. It’s been two months since I was last in the ring and I—I feel like I’m going stir crazy here. This is my life. It’s what I’m trained to do and I have to get back in eventually and I promise, Buck, I promise I’m ready for it now. You can talk to Dr. Cho if you need to but she’ll agree and –”

“Okay.”

“– if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who—what?” you froze, watching the way Bucky pushed out a nervous smile.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said again, the gentle kind of smile on his face that was so incredible subtle and lit up the entire room all at once. “You’re ready. I can see that. You’ve been ready for the last week I think, but I wanted to wait until you said something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not excited about the possibility it could happen again, but we’ll start slow, right?”

“Right, yes, of course,” you agreed, smile aching in your cheeks as you nodded. “I’m a little surprised you’re okay with this.”

“Yeah, well, you never treated me like I was going to break,” Bucky explained, stepping forward and picking up the tape from the side of the ring. He drew out a long extension before he cut it off, gesturing for your hands and starting to wrap them himself. It sent chills up your spine. “I want to return the favor. You say you’re ready? Okay. You’re ready. Besides, if anyone is going to get back in that ring with you, I want it to be me. Let’s me keep an eye on you.”

You smiled at him as he finished wrapping your hands, a soft blush in your cheeks.

His own hands already wrapped from hitting the punching bag, he led you to the ring, lifting up the ropes for you to duck under. He followed close behind and though he was hesitant as he brushed his hands on the thighs of his pants, watching you under cautious eyes, he trusted you implicitly. He believed you when you said you were ready. It gave you back the control you’d been missing for months.

“Slow, remember?” he advised, holding his hands up into position.

You nodded, doing the same and unable to wipe the smile from your face.

It started out in easy, cautious movements; like you were marking choreography. Starting to find the rhythm again with each other and never hitting at full swing. He reminded you what it was like to have to watch your opponent from all angles and how to anticipate movement before it strikes. You tapped his cheek with your closed fist, almost like a kiss, and he smiled with a nod of approval as you pulled it away. Everything was in slow motion.

A few days later and you worked up to increasing the paces of your movements; still never hitting at full strength and not enough to get a line of sweat to drip off your brow, but closer to the real thing. Bucky had asked Dr. Cho to come in and observe after your approval and she watched from the sidelines, nodding and studying your reactions when Bucky’s hand swung at you, albeit in a slow enough pace you could have stepped aside easily, but quick enough for it to resemble the sparring that used to take place in the ring. She nodded, giving you a thumbs up and you beamed in Bucky’s direction. He had a kind of hopefulness in his eyes you hadn’t seen in long time.

A month later and you stood at the edge of the ring, sweat dampening your hair and pooling in beads down your arms and neck. You grinned, adrenaline coursing through you to feel the rush again, to know that Bucky trusted you so completely to step back into the ring again with you after what happened, to be willing to spar with you at your full strength.

He’d gotten in a few hits and while his eyes burned wide and fearful of what might happen, you had only grinned, sending a wink before you took the opportunity to jump him. You kicked off from the post in the corner of the ring, lunging onto his shoulders and using the full force of your body weight as you swung around and slammed him to the mat in the momentum.

Your body on top of his, holding him down, and he groaned as his face scrunched up in a grimace from the impact.

“That’s new,” he grunted, barely opening his eyes from the glare of the florescent light above, but you cast a shadow over him, your face just inches from his as you started to laugh.

“Spent a lot of time watching Nat and Steve spar while I was sidelined,” you replied with a smirk, hands still gripping his wrists pressed down onto the mat by his face, held in a form of surrender.

“Should have figured you’d get a move like that from Romanoff,” Bucky chuckled. He made no effort to move out from under you.

“Feels good to be back in the ring,” you sighed, unable to wipe the smile from your face, a relief you couldn’t quite explain. “After all that happened, it just… it’s nice to know I can still take you down, Barnes.”

“Of course, you can. Never doubted that for a second,” he replied softly, the teasing fading away to something sincere, something that made your stomach twist into knots. “I am just… constantly amazed by you, Y/n. Everything you do, everything you’ve survived. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Your lips parted in a gentle kind of shock, watching as a lingering sadness masked over the pain filled shades of blue. A world of emotion settled in his eyes and an eternity could have passed by in that moment, the world spinning on without you because the only thing that mattered was soft blue, worry lines in his forehead, and the small freckle above his left eye.

The two of you never really talked about those months you were gone. You didn’t want to darken the moments you had with him by bringing up the hell you’d been put through or asking him what happened to him while you were gone. He never confronted you about it, either, but you could tell how much he wanted to.

It was a weight that sat between you, the knowledge of how he had lost pieces of himself when you were gone and how you had come to fully accept you would die in that cell.

Without thinking much of it, just wanting to feel more of him, you released his right wrist, trailing your hand up his arm, over his shoulder, until you cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing over cheekbone. He was so beautiful, so stunning and irrevocably broken, like you were, but he was everything; shattered and mangled pieces strung together with string and tape and still somehow the most perfect man you’d ever known.

Bucky just watched you intently as you gazed down at him, mesmerized in the feeling of the bristles of hair on his jawline and the smooth contrast of his cheekbone.

“I missed you,” you whispered suddenly, the words falling with ease. Even though it had been months since you’ve been home, the ache of being without him for so long still sat buried deep in your chest.

Bucky’s breath was warm against your face and you could feel the sharp inhale in his chest against you. He swallowed, licking at his lips, knowing exactly what you meant, because he always did.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart, more than you could ever know.“ He tried to push out a smile that fell too quickly as his eyes began to gloss over. “I… I didn’t know how to keep going without you.”

Heart feeling like it had just cracked straight through the middle, an aching pain and a twist in your stomach, you whispered his name with the sweet melody of a prayer and he exhaled a world of pain just to hear his name upon your voice.

His hand snaked up against your hair, pushing away the sparse flyaways in your face. The way he watched you, studied you, like you were something to be treasured, adored, like you were displayed in the Louvre itself, had your heart pounding in your chest, pressed against his. Short, careful breaths as his fingers raked gentle into your scalp, the tender look in his eye, and with a rush of courage, you leaned in.

His lips were unlike anything you’d imagined; somehow pillowy soft and rough at the same time, calloused and velvet. Hesitant at first and just barely touching one another, just feeling the warmth of his breath and the graze of his lips. He was gentle in his movements as he pressed up to kiss you, ushering your head to the side to kiss between your lips, angling you above him. Your hand released his left wrist, allowing it to find its way to your waist. Metal caressing up your side, smooth, steady motions leaving goosebumps in their wake, and you sighed against his mouth.

It was more, better, than you imagined it would be because it was Bucky, and there was never a moment with him that left you unsatisfied. It only took a few seconds before you caught taste of one another and once you did, you couldn’t slow down, couldn’t get enough.

It was months and years of pining, of holding each other in cover of the night and teasing smiles and checking in more than you needed to because not knowing whether or not he was okay on a mission unsettled you unlike anything else. It was too long of being at arm’s length, too long of fear of the unknown, too long of being separated against your will and dreaming of him to keep you sane.

Bucky planted his foot on the ground, shifting until you rolled onto your back as he hovered above you. The weight of his body on yours and you kissed at him hungrily, deeply, wrapping a leg around his waist and pushing your heel against him, ushering him to where you so desperately needed him. The grind against you was sinful, perfect, heavenly and you let out a moan that nearly stopped Bucky in his tracks.

He kissed along your jawline, whispering sweet praises in your ear, words of “sweetheart” and “beautiful” chanting like a prayer, and you couldn’t get enough of his voice, of the feel of his hands on you, of his lips pressing and drinking yours in, and you reached for the hem of his shirt. Fingers brushing against his waist line and he flinched slightly, not from the fear of it, but because yours hands were on his skin and anticipation burned through every nerve in his body. Fingers curled under the fabric and began to inch it upwards when suddenly, the loud slamof the gym doors against the wall echoed through the rafters. 

Bucky scrambled off of you, jumping up to his feet and adjusting his shirt quickly as he glanced down at the entrance. You were still on the mat, a little disoriented and hazy as you looked up at him to find him clenching his jaw nervously, a red swell of his lips and a slight mess of his hair. He still managed to look like a dream.

You pulled yourself to your feet, standing beside him as Nat and Sam walked into the gym talking to one another, swinging their bags by their sides.

“Oh hey,” Nat called, taking notice of you and Bucky. As she walked closer, her eyes narrowed, flashing quickly between the pair of you and it didn’t take a specially trained to know what happened. Your cheeks burned red. She pursed her lips into a smirk. “Having fun?”

You parted your lips to answer, but nothing came out. Glancing over at Bucky, and he was raking his hands through his hair, shaking his head because he knew Nat caught them. She was too observant not to. Sam, on the other hand, remained oblivious.

“Anyway,” Nat grinned, turning to you, “I was hoping I could steal Y/n for a bit. We haven’t really had a chance to talk and I miss my best friend.”

A warm smile pulled at your lips and you nodded. As Sam stepped forward to throw himself into the ring with Bucky, guilt hit you hard in the chest at the idea of walking away from Bucky, even for a few hours, after what just happened. There was so much to tell him, so many questions you had; like if this changed things and if he wanted more and if he’d let you kiss him like that again.

You glanced over at Bucky, apologies swimming in your eyes, but you were only met with curved lips and soft eyes. He ushered you towards Nat and helped you swing under the ropes and slide down the platform. The relief was instant.

“Have fun for me,” he asked sincerely, gesturing over at Sam who was cracking his knuckles, “since I’m apparently stuck with this idiot.”

You laughed, leaning into Nat’s shoulder as she swung her arm around you and started to gently tug you towards the doors. You went with her, turning over your shoulder to watch as Bucky started to walk back into the ring, his back to you, and you felt a surge of panic.

“Bucky, wait!”

He froze, jogging back towards the ropes as you met him at the bottom of the platform. He kneeled down to your eye level, gripping on the post for balance and concern filtering through his features.

“We’ll, um, we’ll talk later?” you asked nervously and Bucky’s lips curved up into a content smile. You weren’t used to being the nervous one when it came to him.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he replied breathily, his hand snaking behind the nape of your neck and carefully tugging you towards him to press his lips to your forehead. Warm and soft and gone far too soon, you didn’t mind at all that Sam had raised an eyebrow behind Bucky’s shoulder with a satisfied smirk. Bucky waited until you nodded at him, letting him know you were okay for him to go, before he stood back to his feet.

Nat was just over your shoulder by the time Bucky bumped fists with Sam at the center of the ring, ready to fight. Her hand slid into yours, knowingly, because Natasha Romanoff never let anything slip past her.

***

“Stop! He did not!” you burst into laughter, tears in your eyes as Nat finished telling you about how Sam had managed to crash one of Tony’s seriously expensive cars because Clint had convinced him it was the standard SHIELD issued surveillance vehicle. His reconnaissance mission had escalated to a full city car chase and it didn’t end well for the Maserati.

Nat nodded, grinning ear to ear as she tossed another bite of popcorn into her mouth.

Your stomach was aching from the laughter and from the snacks, but as you sat on the floor of Nat’s room, backs leaning against the wall, just finding space to be completely and entirely unbridged, you found you didn’t mind the twist in your stomach muscles. It was welcomed.

“Where was–” you laughed, trying to catch your breath, “Where was I? How do I not remember this?”

You brushed a tear from you eye just as Nat’s smile slowly fell. She swallowed thickly, pulling his legs up to her chest and turning to you with a solemn look on her face, giving you the answer that made the laughter die in your chest.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” she started, but you held up your hand.

“No, no, it’s okay, Nat,” you replied sincerely, grabbed her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m here now, right? I’m good.”

She nodded, though it was hesitant. “Are you?”

You thought about it for a moment. It was an easy response, convincing people you were okay. You’d had a long history of saying you were okay even when you weren’t, only because it was easier to brush it aside, to not have to talk about it, until it eventually festered and boiled and you woke screaming and crying in the dead of night.

You had gaps in your memory, trauma you still didn’t know you endured, and only of a glimpse of the hell you’d been put through for seven months, but it was behind you. You were home. You were safe. You were surrounded by the most advanced technology in the world and Fury had every agent available tracking down the man with the scar you described for their sketch artist. There was no shoe to be dropped, you had to believe that, otherwise you’d go insane. You had everything you needed, survived the worst of it.

And you had Bucky.

“I think I’m getting there,” you said, nodding with a relief in your tone that had Nat’s smile returning.

“You’re gonna talk to Barnes, right?” she grinned, nudging your shoulder until you were laughing again.

“I knew you saw that!”

“Don’t need to see it in action to know what you two were up to,” she teased. “Your face was the color of my hair and Barnes couldn’t meet my eye. It doesn’t take a spy to figure it out.”

You covered your face with your hands as Nat leaned her head on your shoulder, laughing. It was the lightest you’d felt since you’d been back, like you were teenagers again with so much too look forward to, naïve and care-free. After a while when the laughs died down again, Natasha was still leaning on your shoulder, playing with your hand.

“I like you and Barnes together,” she said quietly, a steady observation, one she’d had for years since you were sneaking him off to the city on adventures and back when he was accompanying you innocently on morning runs. “You’re good for each other. You helped bring him back from something dark when he first came to us and it’s obvious how much he cares for you.”

You nodded, trying to distract yourself in the tingle of Nat’s fingers as she drew pictures on your palm. “Was he okay?”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“When I was… gone,” you muttered out and Nat sat up to look at you properly as you tried to find your words. You ran your fingers through your hair in a nervous tick. “I don’t remember a whole lot after the last video but I… I remember they showed me footage of you guys of when it aired. I saw Bucky react to it; kneeling in the street and just… screaming.”

Nat let out a heavy breath as she scooted closer to you, sitting hip to hip, and this time, it was you that leaned against her. She brushed her hand through your hair, trying to ease you as tears welled in your eyes.

“He… He really struggled, Y/n,” she replied after a prolonged silence. “Even before that video, he wasn’t himself, kept teetering back and forth between his depression and the winter soldier.”

You clenched your jaw and a tear rolled down your cheek. Nat squeezed your hand.

“After you di–” Nat sucked in a harsh breath, recollecting herself, “after we _thought_ you died, he just lost it; stopped eating, stopped sleeping. Until one day he just up and disappeared. Steve told us he was traveling but we all knew was he was really up to. Took me a while but I finally caught up with him in Brussels a few months later and he was taking out Hydra agents on some hitlist he made up.”

“He _what_?” you gaped, sitting up as wide eyes met Nat’s, heart painful in your chest. She nodded carefully.

“I don’t know if you ever realized how much you meant to him, Y/n,” she continued solemnly. “He hit rock bottom for a while; gave into the winter soldier because it was easier than letting himself grieve. Took us a while to bring him home again but he started to come around. He was starting to heal again but… he was a wreck, Y/n. Hell, we all were, but James… he said some things to Steve that really scared us.”

You narrowed your eyes, heart already threatening to jump straight from your chest. “What are you talking about? What did he say?”

“That’s something you have to ask him about,” she sighed, offering you a pained smile. It didn’t meet her eyes. “My point, is that he wasn’t anywhere near okay, Y/n. He won’t let you see that because he’s trying to be strong for you. After what you’d been through, his pain, _our_ pain, is nothing in comparison…”

“I’m not in the business of sizing up traumas, Nat,” you said sincerely and she nodded.

“I know,” she replied, snuggling up against you. “I just want to make sure you know you don’t have to be afraid with him. He cares for you, Y/n. There’s no situation where he’d ever turn you away.”

You brushed the tears from your tears, curling up against the soft scent of vanilla in Natasha’s hair and hooking your arm with hers. There was nothing left to say, nothing that could change what happened over the last seven months and the heartbreak and suffering you’d both endured. But sitting here, leaning on your best friend while reruns of your favorite sitcom played from your laptop, it was all a little less painful. You’d find a way to chip it away, piece by piece, until it was a distant memory and you’d need your family to do that.

You’d need Bucky.

“I should go talk to him,” you said after a while, your voice rough as it came out.

Nat squeezed your hand, smiling softly as she pulled away from you. She brushed her fingers through your hair, taming it along your shoulders and rubbing gently under your eyes to wipe it clear of tears.

“I’m sure he’s still up, listening for you to get back to your room okay,” Nat teased playfully, drawing a smile from you like she intended. She pulled you tight against her side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a warm embrace. “I’d say good luck, but you clearly don’t need it.”

You laughed through the nerves in your stomach and pushed yourself to your feet. A short wave goodbye as Nat settled in with her bowl of popcorn, the next episode of the series you’d been watching on auto play and she gave you a wink as you closed the door behind you.

There was nothing to be afraid of. It was only Bucky. Sweet, kind, incredibly selfless Bucky whose lips had grazed yours just hours ago and yet your heart was in your throat. Anxiety and panic twisting and turning in your stomach with every step as you declined the stairs two flights to the floor you shared with Bucky.

Thousands of possibilities ran through your mind, wondering if he’d regret what happened on the ring or if he’d run from you or push you away. You wondered if he felt this way all along, like you had, if he longed for you the way you so desperately longed for him. You wondered if maybe all the pain and suffering you’d endured led you to this moment, just you so could be here, standing outside of his bedroom with only the thin layer of wood separating his quietly pacing steps beyond the door.

A heavy exhale, gathering what remained of your courage, and then, you knocked. 


	11. Eleven

The door swung open just as your knuckles grazed the wood, like he’d been waiting anxiously, prepared with his hand on the knob. A short gust of air as it opened to reveal Bucky standing in the frame, changed from his workout gear into sweatpants hanging low on his waist and a standard issue SHIELD t-shirt you’d once stolen for him out of Sam’s closet. Hair tucked delicately behind his ears, though a few strands swung forward, and a smile on his lips that only made your heart swell.

“Is now a good time for that talk?”

Bucky smiled sweetly, nodding as he stepped aside to let you in. “For you? Always.”

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, you noticed his laptop was propped up on the dresser, the soft strums of guitar and the soothing, raspy voice of Ray LaMontagne gently carrying through the room. A song amongst the playlist you’d made him. 

You looked over to find Bucky leaning against the closed door, arms folded over his chest and a kind of warmth in his features you only seemed to find when he was looking at you. He seemed to do that a lot these days; just watch you. Filled with an ease and comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else but in the knowledge that you really were home safe with him.

“How was sparring with Sam?” you asked quietly, because you couldn’t come out with what was really on your mind. Bucky smiled, a sort of relief on his face as he came to sit down beside you.

“You know how Sam is,” he shrugging teasingly, “weak left hook and a sore loser.”

You laughed softly, leaning onto his shoulder and pulling his hand into your lap as he continued to tell you about their match. You listened contently, tracing the lines of his palm and reveling in the warmth of his skin, grounding yourself to the toughness of muscle under your cheek and the faint pulse under your grasp.

Bucky had just finished telling you about how he’d nearly given Sam a bloody nose when you pulled his hand to your lips, kissing at his knuckles absentmindedly and the words died on his tongue. Silence filled the room save for the soft melodies of the music playing through the speakers of his laptop.

“Can I ask you something?”

Bucky swallowed, mesmerized in the way you played so innocently with his hand. “Anything.”

“What happened to you while I was gone?”

A flinch in his palm and Bucky’s breath hitched so visibly you felt it under your lean on his shoulder. You sat up carefully, never dropping his hand from your grasp for even a second, and waited; waited until he was ready to say something because you could see the gears turning in his head, eyes darting frantically to the floor as he tried to find words.

“It’s not something you should worry about, doll,” he finally mumbled, voice so quiet you had to strain your ears to hear him.

“It’s you, Buck. I’ll always worry about you,” you replied firmly, squeezing his hand.

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with cool metal. “You’d be disappointed in me, Y/n; wouldn’t wanna look at me again.”

“Not possible,” you argued back gently, bringing his hand back to your lips and he watched you with a kind of surprised awe that made your stomach hurt. “There’s nothing you could do or say that would scare me away, Bucky. Nothing.”

“Even if I became everything you worked so hard to pull me back from?” he questioned painfully, a kind of venom dripping in his voice he only reserved for himself, never directed at you. “Even if I pushed away everyone who tried to help me and gave into the winter soldier because I was weak and—and _pathetic_ and being numb was easier than letting myself _grieve you_ , than actually letting myself acknowledge that you were gone and I was– I was _alone?_ Even if I started killing again and my hands were constantly stained in blood? Even if I—”

“Not even then,” you said soothingly. 

You cupped the side of his face with your free hand, ushering him to look at you and you were met with a glossy layer over blue eyes, tears threatening to spill. You leaned forward and kissed his cheekbone until a sigh escaped him and his heart rate started to fall back to an easy pace.

“You won’t scare me away, Buck. I’m here.”

It was like he took it as a challenge, determined that there was something he’d eventually do that would push you away, something that would be the final straw and you’d see him the way he saw himself; broken, irredeemable, lost. You could tell, simply by the look on his face, how little he believed he deserved anything from you, let alone your love.

Your hand trailed up the side of his face, running over the rough hairs on his jaw and tracing smooth skin of his cheekbones, watching as he sighed against your touch, the features on his face softening against you.

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his; a chaste kiss, soft and sweet, though it spoke a thousand words. It told him that you were real, that you were sitting beside him where you’d always be, that he was worth more than he believed and no force on this Earth was going to keep him from you.

When you pulled back, Bucky held you firm with a hand on the nape of your neck, keeping you still just long enough to press a kiss to your nose, to your forehead, until he released you. Sitting on the edge of the bed together, staring at the opposing wall, at the detailing in the dresser, hands intertwined between you.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Did you mean it?”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to face him as you folded a leg under you, letting the other hang off the side of the bed. “Of course, I—”

“Before you were taken,” he clarified in a hushed mutter, like the words were difficult just to get passed his lips, like he’d been thinking about it on an endless loop since he first saw you again but too afraid to ask. Slowly, he met your eye and the longing, the desperation was clear as day. He clenched his jaw nervously, struggling to keep your gaze. “Before they took you away, while I was trying to reach you, you… you said…”

“I love you.”

Bucky closed his eyes, a gasp leaving him as you uttered the words. He nodded.

“You want to know if I meant it?” you asked in a pained disbelief, wondering if he hadn’t even believed you when you had said it through the barrier of the wall between you. It broke your heart. “Bucky, honey, I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it with every part of me.”

“But do you still? After all you’ve been through?” he questioned timidly, his hand shaking slightly in your own, “after I failed to find you and left you for dead and—”

“Yes,” you said urgently, cutting him off before he fell down the dark hole of guilt and shame that didn’t belong to him. You grasped the sides of his face, demanding he meet your eye and you smiled softly at him, lovingly, and kissed his lips with a gentle fever.

You pulled back, watching for his reaction until the fear started to slip from his features. You brushed the hair from his eyes, keeping it behind his ears the best you could.

“I love you, Bucky,” you confessed, the words falling easily from your lips as if it was the truest thing you’d ever said, and it was. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Buck. I’m here.”

Bucky nodded, trying to process your words for a moment, staring at you, breaths picking up in pace, until, suddenly, like he couldn’t wait a second longer, he lunged at you. Pressing your back down to the mattress as he crawled over you, scooting your bodies further up the bed so your legs no longer dangled over the edge, and he pressed his lips to your mouth.

Hungry and needy and filled with a world of emotion he struggled to put into words, Bucky kissed you and drank you in like the feel of your lips was his only life source. Under him, your hands raked up into his hair, trailing down his chest and tugging at him as he hovered over you until he allowed the weight on his body to rest on yours. You parted your legs, giving him space to lie between them, as he kissed the corner of your mouth, peppering his lips along your jawline, down your neck, over your earlobe. His hands ran along your curves, desperate to feel more of you.

It was all he thought about, all he could dream about, and suddenly it was real and tangible and he could feel you push up against him, searching for a friction between you. It was heavenly.

He paused after a minute, breathless, and you were dizzy from the high of him. He stared down at you, lips swollen and red, an image from your dreams, and he exhaled, “I love you, too. Long as I can remember and with everything I have. I love you, sweetheart.”

This time, when he kissed you again, it was filled with a fire, a heat and an urgency, because you’d both spent so long holding yourselves back from one another, too afraid to make that next step, and it was all rushing to the surface at once. Years of longing and months of agonizing heartache, believing you’d never see each other again, that you’d missed your chance to be together the way you so desperately craved.

Cool metal snaked under your shirt, causing you to shiver and he nearly pulled away before you reached down to your waist line and tugged your shirt up yourself, sliding it up your torso and pulling it up over your head, letting the fabric fall to the ground beside you.

Bucky sucked in a breath, staring down at you as his hand slowly came to rest on your stomach, Tingling sensation its wake, Bucky soothed his hand along your exposed skin, gliding over scars he knew, some he stitched himself, and others that left a gaping hole in his chest, ones he knew you sustained under Hydra’s captivity.

He leaned down and kissed a particularly large one running from the left side of your ribs to your navel, jagged and hardened, like it had been open and healed several times over. The press of his lips against your skin was unlike anything else, soothing and explosive at once, and you pulled him back to your mouth, needing to taste him again.

Kissing him and sucking delicately on his lower lip, you slid your hands under his shirt, pushing it up to his shoulders and he pulled away from you were only a second to rid the garment halfway across the room.

There was once a time where he refused to show you the layers of scars he hid under his shirts, where he’d be unable to hold your eye and heat burned in his ears as your touch grazed where metal met flesh. Not anymore. Not after years of attending to his wounds in the field and handling the superficial cuts he didn’t need Dr. Cho for because your hands were familiar and _wanted_ on his skin the way no one else was.

You pushed on his shoulder, not enough to be able to adjust his weight yourself, but he was attuned to you enough to know what you wanted and he turned onto his back, pulling you along with him until you were laying on his chest.

Straddling his waist, lips attached to his own, you gasped for breath as you sat back. Grinning at the flush in his cheeks and the soft pant in his chest. You reached behind you and unclasped your bra, noticing the way Bucky’s eyes kept trailing to your chest, jaw clenched, knowing he needed the extra push. Released from the confinement of the wiring and clasps, Bucky sat up to meet you, hands roaming over the bare of your back as he kissed you again and you grinded down against his lap, sighing into his mouth at the feeling of his length hardening under you with every movement.

Bucky gasped, his hand accidentally tugging at your hair when you rolled your hips a certain way and a soft chuckle followed. He kissed your cheek, hands cupping the sides of your face to get a better look at you, flushed and exposed, vulnerable and so incredibly wanting, Bucky let his eyes gaze down your chest, a shake of his head and an exhale of awe.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he sighed, looking up to meet your eye again just as a heat rose in your cheeks. He kissed the tip of your nose, your cheekbone, back down to your lips. “So beautiful. So gorgeous. My love.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs, excited nerves in your stomach and you pushed him back down against the mattress playfully. You started to crawl away from him and he raised an eyebrow. As your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, he realized what you were trying to do and he grabbed your wrists.

“Hold on now, love,” he urged. “Let me make this about you tonight. You don’t gotta do that.”

“What if this is what I want?” you asked teasingly, your hand brushing over his hardened length through the layer of his sweats and his head fell back against the pillow with a bite to his lower lip. You palmed him gently, adding a little more pressure until he was subdued enough and nodding, you slid away the fabric of his pants and briefs until his cock sprung out from its confinement and landed hard and swollen against his stomach, dripping in precum.

He hissed as the cool air washed over him and you quickly took his length into your hands, warm and delicate, you thumbed over his tip before sinking your closed fist down his shaft. Paying close attention to the sweet noises coming from his mouth and the gasps in his breath, you lowered yourself to swirl your tongue over him and he whined, a sound so delicious you clenched your thighs together in response.

Spurred on by moans, you took him into your mouth, and his whole body flinched.

“Y/n! Y/n, wait, wait, _ah fuck_ ,” Bucky pleaded, and you glanced up at him innocently, pulling your mouth off of him with a pop. He was panting, his cock twitching in your hands as you continued to pump him generously. “Baby, ah, I’m trying to tell you I won’t last if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you shrugged playfully, “I kind of want to see you fall apart from this.”

He chuckled, wiping his hands over his face. “As much as I’d really love that, sweetheart, I don’t want this night to end just yet. Next time?”

You grinned, knowing that a next time stood in your future was enough to get you to crawl off of him and release his cock from your grip. He exhaled in relief, a little dizzy in the head as he pushed you back down to the mattress. Back and forth, constantly switching who had the upper hand just as you always did when you met in the ring, though this was a different dance entirely.

Bucky kissed his way down your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it before he continued further down, stopping at your hipbones and glancing up again for permission. You nodded hazily and he pulled your pants down, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties as well because time couldn’t be wasted, and removed every last bit of fabric until they fell down the room along with his clothes.

“So gorgeous, baby. Still don’t know how this is real,” he sighed breathily, settling himself between your legs, kissing at your inner thighs.

“Feels pretty real,” you gasped, hand clenching down into his hair as his warm breath ghosted over where you needed him most. He chuckled, muffled by his mouth pressing to your outer lips, the vibration of it nearly closing your thighs on him until he pressed them back to the bed.

“Stay still, sweetheart.”

He pressed a kiss to the bundle of nerves at the top of your folds. You moaned, closing your eyes and trying to follow him request, though when you felt his tongue flatten and run a steady, jaw quivering line up between your folds you struggled against the urge to squirm.

“Bucky, _ah,_ please,” you whined, nails digging into his scalp.

He smirked against you, removing his hand from your thigh and running his fingers along the slick of your wetness before sliding two inside you with ease. You grabbed onto the headboard with your free hand, clenching the frame as Bucky began to curl his knuckles.

He didn’t let up, not with the sounds coming from your mouth urging him on. He lapped at your clit, tongue swirling over the nub, kissing it, sucking it into his mouth, while his fingers increased in pace. Your walls started to clench around his digits and he knew you were close even with the steady pants and moans coming from above him.

Building and building until the wave crashed against the shore and bliss spread through your core, warmth and unlike anything else, until you were dizzy and breathless and Bucky was sheepishly kissing his way back up to your mouth.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” you gasped, meeting his eye again and reminding yourself why you fell in love with him in the first place. Gentle shades of blue, filled with nothing but admiration and honesty and affection.

“Dreaming about you, I suppose,” he replied casually, shrugging it off as if he hadn’t just made your heart skip a dozen beats.

You laughed and brought his lips back down to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue and reveling in the feel of him as he rubbed himself against you searching for the friction he so desperately needed. He was painfully hard, tip dripping again and wiping off on your inner thigh as he kissed you. He was holding back, making sure he went on your pace, no matter how desperately he craved you.

“Need you,” you muttered against his lips, hand trailing down between your bodies to grasp his length in your grip. His breath hitched, jaw clenching and he nodded.

“Do I— _ah fuck_ , do I need—” he was struggling to get his words out as you stroked him, coating him with the slick building between your thighs.

You knew what he was asking. Protection. You shook your head, letting him know. Active SHEILD agents were given the choice of having IUDs implanted at the start of every fiscal year. It was more cost effective than maternity leave and most agents in the field weren’t exactly trying to conceive.

Bucky took a deep breath, lining himself up with your entrance, but he paused just as his tip edged into you, pulling back out. You watched him carefully, watched as worry lines formed on his brow and uncertainty lingered on his face.

“Buck? You okay?”

He nodded, a little more serious though he tried his best to push out a smile for you. “Just trying to remind myself this ain’t just a dream. Don’t want to wake up and you not be here with me. I don’t want to wake up alone again.”

“Oh Bucky,” you sighed, cupping the sides of his face and bringing his lips to meet yours. “You’re not dreaming, love. I’m right here. No one is going to take me from you again, okay? It’s just you and me. Let me make you feel good. You’ll know then, honey. Trust me.”

You kissed at the lines on his forehead until they softened and he smiled back at you. With a slight nod, he adjusted his positioning to line himself up again. In a steady, slow pace, he sank into you with ease; bodies meant to form perfectly to one another. His lips parted, eyes fluttering at the sensation.

You watched him in awe, your body needing no time to adjust to his size from all the anticipation. He was so beautiful, so vulnerable like this and you swore you could see the very core of his soul through the pleasure on his face and he hadn’t even started to move.

“Told you it felt real,” you teased, your right hand tracing lines along the metal plates of his shoulder.

He nodded in a gasp. “Should’ve known. You’re always right.”

You laughed at that, pushing yourself up on your elbows to kiss his jawline. You rolled your hips against his and he choked out a moan. “Need you to move, baby.”

He nodded, smile upon his lips, and suddenly with every carefully lined thrust, you felt heaven between your legs.

Hands sliding up and down his chest, around his waist, feeling every part of him you could get your hands on, as he started to pick up in pace, not able to last much longer. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock throbbing with every drive into you, and his lips lingered on your neck, breath hot and panting against your skin.

“Tell me you’re close,” Bucky gasped, urgency in his voice.

You nodded, unable to put the words together as you raked your fingers in his hair, kisses on his temples. You held onto him, losing yourself in the feeling between you as Bucky snaked his fingers down to rub at your clit, rushed circles that had you clenching around him in a matter of seconds.

The rush to the edge was so exquisite, heaven dancing on every nerve in your body, your heart swelling and soaring knowing it was Bucky Barnes, your best friend, the love of your life, your soulmate, bringing you there.

“I— _fuck_ ,” Bucky grunted, his hips becoming more erratic, “feels so good, sweetheart, so good— _ah, fuck, yes_ —so close—”

That was it for you, his words bringing you over the edge and crashing down into waves of pleasure as Bucky rocked you through it, seeking his own release, and it didn’t take him long after you to find it.

He gasped, a moan caught in his throat as he came inside you, cock twitching in his release, slow, gentle thrusts to prolong the pleasure until it became too much and he collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest.

A glimmer of sweat reflected over his back, hairs sticking to the nape of his neck and you ran your fingers soothingly over his body as his breathing came back to a steady rhythm. It was more than you imagined it to be, better, because he was in your arms, sighing contently, and without a doubt the most beautiful man you’d ever seen come undone.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he mumbled against your chest sleepily.

“I love you,” you said simply, just wanted to hear the words aloud again, wanted to make sure he knew.

Bucky’s lips curved up into a smile that crinkled up by his eyes. You brushed your hand over his face, pushing away his hair.

“I can say that whenever I want now. Just so you know,” you added, grinning wide enough that your cheeks hurt. “Might have to tell you a few times a day. Might have to say it outside this room, maybe in front of the team. You okay with that?”

Bucky kissed you with the smile plastered over his face and you burst out laughing. He pressed quick kisses to your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, anywhere he could find until you shoved him away playfully. “More than okay. It’d be a dream.”

“Good,” you laughed. “No waking up then, you hear me?”

“Never.”

***

The only person who deliberately chastised the very obvious development in your relationship was, unsurprisingly, Sam. When you emerged from Bucky’s room together, hand in hand, at around two in the afternoon the following day because you could only handle so much stimulation and Bucky’s stomach had started growl so loud his cheeks were burning red, Sam had nearly choked on his water as he sat at the kitchen table.

Natasha was smiling from the corner of the room, curled up on the couch as she read from a book in a language you didn’t recognize. Steve was passing by to grab his gym bag and patted Bucky on the shoulder, a silent acknowledgement. Tony was nowhere to be found, likely holed up in the lab, but he was smart enough to put the pieces together on his own.

Sam, on the other hand, who was far more observant than he let on and clearly knew what was happening between you two but simply reveled the opportunity to embarrass Bucky, made a huge fuss of it until Bucky’s face was the color of Natasha’s hair.

“Leave him alone, Sam,” you laughed, letting go of Bucky’s hand as you skipped over to the fridge to grab the ingredients to make the grilled cheeses you promised him when he was curled up against you in bed.

“I’m just saying, it took him long enough!” Sam exclaimed, winking at Bucky who was now sporting a seriously hard glare. “Guy’s been pining after you since you met. You really think an ex-Hydra assassin would let just _anyone_ drag his miserable ass into the city for fun? Or- Or play with his hair during movies nights? Or! Or—”

“Sam!” you warned through your laughs. He grinned back at you and held his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, I’m just saying I’m happy for you guys,” he teased, standing from his seat and circling the table to clap Bucky on the back.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Bucky grumbled as Sam left the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, he made his way into the kitchen, circling his arms around your waist and catching you off guard as you pulled a few slices of bread from the bag. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, unashamed of the wondering eyes in the room.

“Need any help?”

“I’m good,” you replied, grinning wildly, “go take a seat.”

“You sure, doll? I really don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t, Buck,” you smiled up at him, standing on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You should listen to her, Barnes,” Nat called from the living room. Her eyes were still glued on her book. “Y/n makes a damn good grilled cheese and you don’t want to mess it up. Trust me.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, turning to you with a confused look which only made you start laughing.

“Nat tried to help once and she burned the shit out of them,” you clarified with a teasing shrug. “Besides, you’ve got to get the right ratios and cut the tomatoes evenly and—”

“Tomatoes?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

You grinned at him as Natasha shook her head from her seat.

“Oh, you have no idea what’s coming for you, Bucky Barnes.”

***

It was an entire month of the happiest you’d ever been in your life. Sleepless nights in the best way possible with the man you adored, getting back to training in the ring, movie nights with the team, feeling at home and safe and loved beyond belief. You understood what Bucky had meant that night, that it all felt like a dream, like it was too perfect, too good to be true, and you wondered every day when you’d wake up back in that cell.

But you never did. It was just one blissful day after the next.

Your memories were still messy, still scattered in bits and pieces and difficult to construct no matter how many sessions you spent with Dr. Cho and how many wires she hooked up to your head to try to shake it back together. Bucky remained by your side through the entirety of it, always supportive, always patient and kind.

Tony had made the executive decision to keep your presence back at the compound a secret from the public until SHIELD could figure out exactly what Hydra wanted from you and why they had let you go without seemingly any kind of fight. None of it made sense and Tony was working hard to get answers. The media would have a field day with this and he wanted to be prepared. You understood that more than anyone else. You weren’t exactly ready to face a camera again, let alone dozens in a single room.

But your family stood by your side through all of it and you almost forgot some days that you’d been through hell itself.

Amongst all that happiness, you should have known something would come up. It couldn’t always be warm and fuzzy and joy and peace. That wasn’t how your life was orchestrated.

The nightmares increased a few weeks after your first night with Bucky and you dreamt of ginger hair and green eyes, pales skin and freckles. It wasn’t the first time since you’d been back at the compound, since Hydra’s captivity, that you woke up screaming, throat raw and sweat dripping down your face, but this time was different. It felt so incredibly real.

Bucky, lying by your side, had gathered you quickly into his arms, rocking you gently as you cried against his chest, telling him the pieces that came back you still couldn’t string together, even with this gnawing guilt you couldn’t quite place, an agonizing grief, a loss, for a person you didn’t know.

They got worse after that. Soon, you started to see glimpses of a gun, of red pooling on the floor of a familiar room, of cold, dead eyes. It started nightly and Bucky begged you to go see Dr. Cho but you were too afraid, didn’t want to know what it was you were seeing, trying to write it off as an error in your conscious, that it couldn’t have been a real memory.

You disregarded the fact that Bucky’s memories had come back to him in the same way; in pieces, in the dead of night, through screams that burned his throat raw.

Two weeks long of nightmares and Bucky was eyeing you carefully from the bathroom as you crawled into the bed, tucking the sheet up under your arms and snuggling against the pillow. Bucky spit the wash of his toothpaste into the sink and wiped his mouth.

“I’m worried about you,” he said softly, nervously, as he made his way over to the bed.

“I’ve had nightmares before, Bucky,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even and less afraid of the dark than you felt.

“Not like this. Not this bad or this frequent,” Bucky sighed, pulling you against the bare of his chest as he settled into the bed. You came willingly, leaning your head into the crook of his shoulder and draping an arm across his waist. He kissed your forehead. “Dr. Cho said that when the memories came back, they’d be distressing. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is a memory.”

“No one else was there with me, Buck. It was just me. I was alone,” you said, regretting it instantly because you never talked about your time at Hydra with Bucky.

You told Dr. Cho what you could remember, Natasha always sitting with you as you did as of late. You didn’t let it fester and build inside of you like poison untouched, but it was something you wanted to keep away from Bucky. Hydra had already taken so much from him, you didn’t want to add what they’d taken from you on top of it.

Bucky sucked in a harsh breath and you could feel the rapid thump of his heart.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he exhaled, giving in easy because it was late and because he never wanted to push you on this. You needed time and more than anyone else, he understood that. You had done it for him once with impenetrable patience. It was the least he could do for you.

So, you curled up against him, finding solace in the smell of fresh soap and sweet smelling body lotion you had left in his bathroom, and closed your eyes. It didn’t take long for sleep to pull you under and shortly after, the boy returned to you.

_Someone was laughing. A voice behind a wall, you realized, as you bent down and tried to get a glimpse through the impossibly small crack in the wall. You couldn’t see much through the layers of cement and rocks. Only a tuff of orange hair and tan camouflage._

_There was a boy on the other side of the wall; young, by the sound of his voice and he was asking questions about the Avengers, about your family. Sincere and curious, genuine. You had the urge to tell him everything you knew, to tell him about his favorite heroes he looked up to and remind him they were just as human, for the most part, as he was._

_But then the scene changed and suddenly the boy was gone. You hit your hand against the wall, searching for him, until you heard a door slamming open on his side of the wall and muffled groans as footsteps dragged something into the room. The door closed again and all you could hear was the boy struggling to crawl back towards the crack in the wall. You could vaguely make out a blur of dark red amongst the ginger in his hair._

_He was quiet now, not as hopeful and innocent as he has just been moments ago and you tried to ask him what was wrong, but your voice wasn’t working. You slammed your hands against the wall to get his attention, to find out what happened, but every hit was met with startlingly silence, as if you’d never touched it._

_You needed to talk to him, desperately, needed to tell him something, to warn him of something you weren’t even sure what of, but he couldn’t hear you. An overwhelming need to protect him, to save him, rushed through you until tears sprang in your eyes._

_Then, you heard rustling over your shoulder and suddenly more people were in your room. A cell made up of concrete with a dark red stain by the far wall. A man with a scar down his face shoved a boy to his knees in front of you and you recognized him immediately: the kid from the other side of the wall._

_“Oh, she hasn’t figured it out yet, has she?” the man behind him sneered, holding a gun in his right hand. “Go on, tell her what you’ve done.”_

_You narrowed your eyes, glancing between the men, two familiar faces you couldn’t quite place. The kid was crying now, tears streaming down his face and you longed to rush forward and wipe them away, tell him it was okay, it wasn’t his fault, whatever it was. You just wanted to comfort him, this boy in army camouflage you didn’t know._

_The man kicked the boy in the shoulder until he fell forward and you screamed at him to stop, a protective need rushing through you._

_“I’m s-so sorry, Y/n,” the boy whimpered out, his youth and innocence on full display. Bright green eyes hooded under freckled, bruised skin, look back at you, though his jaw was quivering. “They– they made me tell ‘em and I—I tried not to. You have to b-believe me, I t-tried.”_

_He knew you. The boy knew you somehow and you realized then, you knew him, too. The man with scar rolled his eyes, and aimed the barrel of the gun at the boy’s head, causing your breath to hitch. You tried to move tried to dart forward but you couldn’t, your body wouldn’t let you because you hadn’t been able to then and you couldn’t now._

_“Just so we’re clear, this is me destroying your last reason to live.”_

_The boy tried to turn around to look at what was behind him but you begged him to keep his eyes on you, to not look behind him, to not have to face that horrid man with the scar, to see someone who cared for him in his last moments because that was what this was… his last moments._

_The slight movement in his lips caught your eye and you swore you saw a ‘thank you’ pass over them. Just as the safety released, you screamed out, tears down your face, and suddenly, you knew this boy._

_Danny._

_The gunshot that followed sprayed blood on your face and once you started screaming, you couldn’t stop._

–

Bucky woke suddenly to screaming by his side as he had every night for the last two weeks, heart in his throat, but ready. He tossed the blankets from his legs, pulling them down off of you, too, because you were drenched in sweat, your hair sticking to your face. He lunged for you, hulling you up into his arms and rocking you back and forth as you kept screaming.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered in your ear, holding you tight to him, compression to his chest in hopes of easing your racing heartbeat. “You’re safe, sweetheart. Come on, wake up.”

There was something different about your screams tonight, he realized, because there was a name mixed between the cries. He narrowed his eyes, running his metal hand along your back and trailing it up the side of your face in cold compress to your forehead.

“No, no, no,” you begged as your voice broke, cries and shouts rendering it raw, “Danny… I’m so sorry, Danny… I’m so sorry…”

Bucky pulled you back from his chest to find your eyes open, awake, and his heart broke instantly at the sight of tears sliding down your face, the familiar look of guilt in your eyes that he had only ever seen in the reflection of his mirror, a world on your shoulders and blame you didn’t deserve to carry.

“Y/n…”

“You were right,” you cried, “it was a memory. He was real. Danny… Danny was there with me. He was… Buck, he was just a kid.”

Bucky cupped the sides of your face, pushing dampened hair from your eyes and brushing away the tears as they fell. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what would make this easier. He tried to think of what you would say to him when he woke up like this, when he remembered something new, something awful from his past. You were always better with this than he was.

“They—they killed him right in front of me,” you confessed, lunging yourself back into Bucky’s arms and he wrapped you tight against him.

“Why?” Bucky asked softly, trying to direct your thoughts as they came out, needing guidance to find your way through the haze of the memory, “why would they do that?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you mumbled against him, arms squeezing so tightly around him it was near painful, “but that man was there. The one with the scar. I don’t remember what happened after that…”

Bucky nodded, feeling his chest tighten at the mention of the man with the scar, the same man he’d watched beat you to a pulp in videos he’d sent to local news channels, the man who put a bullet through the head of a woman he believed to be you, the man who tortured you for months and clearly did something awful to you in the five you still couldn’t remember. 

“We should go to Dr. Cho,” Bucky decided, hoping and praying you’d agree because he was immensely out of his depth here and the idea of watching you drown in the same floodwaters that nearly took him out a few years ago was unbearable.

“Yeah, okay,” you said, nodding against his neck and Bucky slowly slid the two of you out of the bed. He didn’t even stop to let your feet touch the ground, keeping you firm in his arms as he carried you from the room out into the hall.

There, he was met with Sam leaning against the wall. He stepped forward as he saw Bucky carry you through the doorway.

“What happened? It was worse tonight, wasn’t it?” Sam questioned, eyeing you worryingly and Bucky waited to respond until he felt the careful tap on his shoulder from you that told him it was okay.

“She remembered something from Hydra,” Bucky said, moving towards the elevator as Sam trailed along, “a kid Scarface killed right in front of her.”

“Shit,” Sam exhaled and pressed the button on the elevator for the med bay. “I’ll call ahead for Dr. Cho. Should I get anyone else?”

“Nat,” you said sheepishly against Bucky’s chest and Sam nodded at you.

“You got it.” With that, he took off for the stairs to Nat’s level.

The elevator doors dinged and parted. Bucky stepped inside.

“I can walk, you know,” you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood, voice still a little raw and aching as it echoed briefly in the small space of the elevator as it descended to the med bay. Your hand trailed along Bucky’s neck, cupping the side of his face and thumbing over the bristles of his beard. Even like this, you only ever wanted to make him smile.

“I know,” he said sweetly, kissing your forehead and offering you a glimpse of the smile you wanted, “I just like to hold you. That okay?”

You knew it was only partly true, that he was saying that because he could feel how weak your muscles were back in his room and knew the nightmare had taken most of your energy from you. He wanted to help, always wanted to make things just a little easier for you because there was so much he couldn’t control, couldn’t fix, and he needed to feel like he was doing something for you. You’d be damned if you were the one to take that away from him.

“Always,” you replied, kissing his cheek as the doors parted again.

Dr. Cho met you at the end of the hallway, Sam standing just a few paces behind her. She ushered Bucky to follow her into a room and Natasha was sitting patiently on a chair in the corner of the room. The moment you saw her, Bucky helped you back down to your feet and you crashed against her in a tight embrace.

Natasha was the one who came to your meetings with Dr. Cho when you told her about what happened while you were at Hydra. She had a way of compartmentalizing like no one else and she could handle it in the way Bucky couldn’t. You knew that and so did he, and he never once challenged you on your decision to keep the details of your captivity from him. They were horrors he’d never be able to wipe from his imagination and he was thankful you had someone you could still talk to about them, even if it wasn’t with him. If you ever wanted to tell him, he’d sit and listen without interruption, no matter what it did to his dreams, because he’d do anything for you.

He appreciated Natasha’s presence in the room more than he could say.

“What did you remember?” Dr. Cho asked and you glanced over at Bucky, apologetically, your silent plea for him to step out.

He smiled softly at you, nodding before he made his way to the door.

“Bucky, wait–”

He froze, turning around to find you already crossed the room to him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, cupping his cheeks and bringing his lips to yours. It was chaste and simple, but it conveyed a world of emotion. You kissed his cheek before you pulled away. “I love you.”

His lips curved up into a smile, relief in his chest every time you said those magical words. “Love you, too, sweetheart. I’ll be just down the hall, alright?”

You nodded and slowly made your way back to Nat and Dr. Cho. With that, Bucky took his leave. Tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, he shivered as he made his way back down the hall, having left his room in such a rush, not thinking to stop and grab a shirt. Some of the night shift techs eyed him through the glass walls as he walked by, narrowing in on his left arm and the scars that surrounded it. He tried to shake off the feeling but there was nowhere to hide.

When he passed the lobby, he found Sam, Steve, and Tony all waiting patiently huddled in the corner.

“You woke them up, too?” Bucky asked Sam, a twinge of annoyance in his voice but Sam shook his head.

“They were up doing paperwork on the last mission when they saw me grab Nat,” Sam replied. “They insisted on following.”

Bucky sighed, though he did appreciate the additional support. Sam extended his hand to him, holding a t-shirt he had grabbed on his way over. Bucky pressed out a tight lipped smile, taking it gratefully and shrugging it over his shoulders.

“Everything okay, Buck?” Steve asked, gesturing for him to sit as the rest of them slowly did. They all knew it would be a long night.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied honestly, hands wringing at one another and he leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. “This is the first real suppressed memory that came back. I’m just worried they’re all gonna hit her at once and if something like this is the first of ‘em – some kid she clearly cared about who got shot right in front of her – I don’t know how much worse it can get.”

“It’s Hydra,” Tony grumbled, arms folded over his chest in frustration, “it can always get worse.”

***

By some miracle, Bucky fell asleep in the waiting room. He woke to a small hand pressing down on his shoulder and found Natasha standing above him. Steve, Sam, and Tony were all sleeping in their respective chairs. Sam hanging over the edge of an arm rest, Steve sitting up perfectly straight, and Tony slouched down with his arms folded until he was about ready to fall off the end.

“How is she?”

Nat offered a steady smile, though it didn’t meet her eyes. “Best as you could expect, given the memories coming back to her. She’s getting more glimpses of the kid. Turns out he’d been in the adjoining cell from almost the beginning. Spent nearly three months talking through the walls before they killed him.”

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing you must have given Nat permission to tell him these small details and even those burned in his chest. He knew how easily you connected to people, how fast you built relationships and learned to care with every ounce of your being. It was how you had set your sights on him, how you pulling him out of his darkness and onto morning runs and coffee outside of his bedroom and into the streets of Brooklyn to argue with a bookshop owner.

“They killed him for a reason, James,” Natasha said carefully. “The gunman told her specifically he was doing it to take away her last reason to live. Why would he need to do that?”

Bucky scrunched his brow, thinking. He’d spent most of his time at Hydra not caring either way if he lived or died, he didn’t exactly have that problem of removing reasons to live.

“Maybe they wanted her more compliant? Easier to control?” Bucky offered, wincing as the words came from his mouth, “or maybe they just wanted to mess with her head? I wouldn’t put it past Hydra to let her form some kind of bond with the kid just to kill him months later as some sick form of psychological torture.”

“There’s always a plan with Hydra,” Natasha insisted, sitting down in the chair beside him. “They planned to take her from that base before we even got there. There’s a reason behind all of this. We still don’t even know how she ended up in our driveway without even an ounce of resistance from Hydra. Why go through all the trouble to fake her death and just turn her over to us? Something’s wrong, James.”

Bucky gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to think about that; because it was too painful and because he knew she was right. All of this was too easy and it wasn’t because he was dreaming. Something was wrong and you were at the center of it.

He needed to see you.

Just as he stood to his feet, a click of the overhead paging system turned on, waking Sam, Steve, and Tony. A cough followed, someone clearing their throat over the grainy audio and Bucky exchanged a nervous glance with Steve.

“Марафон, горький, Бруклинский,” the voice spoke through the speakers, Russian words in an American accent. The cadence of the voice was familiar, dark and low, something he’d heard before, but couldn’t quite place.

“Marathon, Bitter, Brooklyn,” Natasha started translating under her breath, a confused look on her face as she tried to piece it together but it didn’t make sense. Random words strung together with no relevance.

“What the hell is that?” Tony shouted, standing to his feet and gesturing up at the ceiling. “Those your trigger words, Barnes?”

Bucky shook his head rapidly, turning to Natasha as she continued mumbling the translations under her breath as they carried over the speakers.

“скаут, боевой, возлюбленная, мелодия, вена…”

“Scout, Combat, Sweetheart, Melody, Vienna…”

“What did you say?” Bucky demanded, grabbing Natasha hard by the shoulder, the realization hitting him like the full force of a train. The words weren’t meaningless, not in conjunction with one another, not in the context of his relationship with you. These words meant _everything_. His heart was in his throat, panic surging through him, and Natasha’s eyes went wide, realizing the fear surging through Bucky’s veins.

“Is Y/n alone?!” Bucky shouted, panicked now, “Who’s with her?!”

“Helen,” Natasha gasped and the two of them took off running.

Bucky didn’t stop to check if the rest of the team was behind him, he could only focus as the speakers continued uttering the words that were about to tear his world apart.

“шестнадцать, страсть,” the voice called, a sickening laugh etched into the voice, and Bucky recognized those words from his own history in Russia _, Sixteen_ and _Desire_. The voice paused just as Bucky and Natasha sprinted down the hall to your room. Ten words. Like his.

“добро пожаловать обратно, эсминец,” the voice purred through the speakers and Bucky’s heart clenched in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

_Welcome back, Destroyer._

He nearly skidded past your room, feet carrying him faster than he could stop and he broke the edge of the doorframe with his grip. He would have screamed as he charged into the room if it hadn’t been for Natasha and Steve rushing down to check on Dr. Cho, who was lying on the floor with a bloody wound on the side of her head.

Bucky’s legs were weak under him and Sam grabbed onto his shoulders before he collapsed.

The bed was empty.

You were gone.


	12. Twelve

Bucky could barely stand on his own feet, vision tunneling as a ringing burned in his eardrums. His breaths were coming in too short, right hand numb as he struggled to keep himself upright. He couldn’t understand how this was even possible; how had they done to you what they did to Bucky and no one even noticed it, didn’t even consider that there was something bigger at play, something evil and vile.

All this time he thought you were safe, thought the worst of it was over, but the rug was pulled out from under him and he was falling a thousand miles a minute, plummeting down to the very core of the planet itself and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

_How did no one see this coming?_

Only Sam took notice from the corner of the room as Bucky’s knees started to buckle, his hand grasping at his chest as his breaths were too shallow, and rushed at him. Sam gripped onto Bucky’s bicep, holding him up against the wall, and quietly instructed him to list five things he could see.

Bucky gritted his teeth, though he played along because it had helped once before, and he didn’t have time to panic like this, couldn’t waste energy losing himself to his mind because you were out there somewhere, alone, and at the mercy of Hydra. So, he listened to Sam and scoured the room for something to ground him.

Light blue trimming on the floor boards. Steve’s arms folded over his chest. Tony’s pacing up and down the small, enclosed room. The sheets of your bed thrown to the edge of the cot in haste. Broken glass lining the floor he hadn’t noticed when he walked in.

He still couldn’t breathe.

“FRIDAY!” Tony shouted as Bucky started mumbling four things he could touch quietly to Sam, “get me a scan of the entire building! I want to know where the hell she is!”

“You got it, boss,” the AI responded.

Bucky felt for the creases in his sweatpants, then to the thin layer of his t-shirt, hands grasping to tug on his hair, and then to grip onto Sam’s forearm. His breaths were starting to come in more even but he was still too dizzy to focus.

“Three things you can hear,” Sam said quietly, eyeing the rest of the team who had yet to notice Bucky’s panic attack. For all the shit he gave Sam, he was a good man and better than he ever gave him credit for to his face. He reminded himself to tell Sam how much he appreciated it that when all this was over.

“You,” Bucky mumbled, concentrating, “footsteps,” nodding to Tony’s relentless pacing, listening carefully for something humming in the background, “and, um, air conditioning.”

Bucky glanced up to find Steve and Tony talking harshly to one another in the corner of the room, trying to determine next steps and clearly being at odds with one another over what to do. Meanwhile, Natasha tended to Dr. Cho, helping ease her onto the chair as she attempted to explain what had happened.

“That voice just came over the speakers and she just froze,” Dr. Cho muttered, shaken, as she glanced between Tony and Steve as they hovered over her, “she started convulsing about halfway through; screaming, crying, begging for me to leave, but then she just… stilled. I’m not sure what that man said but the next thing I know, she was out of the bed and hit me over the head with a vase.”

So that’s why there was broken glass spilled on the floor; flowers and stems thrown haphazardly around the room. Bucky stopped breathing again, the rest of the steps in Sam’s list thrown out of his mind as the image of your eyes as cold and lifeless as his had once been prevented the air from reaching his lungs.

“Two things you can smell,” Sam reminded him quietly enough to not draw attention, “come on, man. We need you here.”

Bucky nodded, following Sam’s instruction and pushing the mental image from his mind. You needed him and whether you were taken to the darkest parts of your consciousness, he’d find his way to you, he’d bring you back. You’d done it for him more times than he could count. He’d do it for you, too.

The fresh flowers now spewed onto the tile floors. Disinfectant soap on the counter.

Sam was about to ask him for the final step in the grounding method when Bucky shoved his way from off the wall, a renewed energy in his veins and determination running through his body. He clenched his hands into fists, turning back to give a single nod to Sam in a silent appreciation.

“FRIDAY!” Tony called impatiently, “I need an update here.”

“I think I found something,” FRIDAY’s voice came through again, “in the east wing. The security cameras haven’t been set up there yet so I can’t get an eye on Agent Y/l/n but there’s movement in the area.”

Steve nodded; arms folded over his chest. He glanced to Bucky with remorse clouding in the light blue of his eyes until his friend nodded, giving him the signal that it was okay to proceed. Steve let out a heavy breath, stepping forward and his arms relaxed at his sides.

“Alright, team. Suit up.”

***

Bucky couldn’t stand wasting time he should be searching the compound for you lugging on his Kevlar jacket and changing out of his sweatpants. It felt like a colossal mistake, attending to something so trivial, but it was Sam that pointed out that a knife and a bullet would rip through cotton a lot easier than the thick material of his suit. If he wanted to survive whoever hacked FRIDAY’s system and whatever hell they brought along with them, he needed to take the extra three minutes.

He emerged from his room, trying to ignore the mess of sheets and pillows he’d laid in with you just hours ago, and met Sam at the end of the hall.

“Steve said we’d meet up there. Let’s go,” Bucky grumbled, heading towards the stairs when a hand grabbed onto his wrist, not enough to stop him in his tracks from the pull of it but he sensed the urgency in the grip, the silent plea to wait.

“You need to be prepared for what you might see,” Sam said sternly, though there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. “You haven’t seen yourself when the soldier took over. If that’s what’s happening to Y/n right now… you’ve got to be prepared for that, man. She’s not going to know you and she may try to kill you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, ripping his hand from Sam’s grasp. It was harsher than he meant to but there would be time for apologies later. He knew how it felt when the soldier controlled him and he didn’t need anyone else to tell him what it would be like to see it. There was no preparing for something like that, for seeing the love of your life stripped from thier emotions, their memories, and rendered a weapon for the same organization that tortured them for months.

Sam nodded, needing no further explanation and gestured for Bucky to lead the way.

The run to the east wing was long, longer than he remembered, and impossibly quiet. All he could focus on was the sound of their footsteps echo through the halls as they ran, the panting of Sam’s breaths, and the rustling of his jacket against his left arm. He didn’t let himself think about anything else, couldn’t, because it would consume him whole.

“We’ve got an issue,” Steve’s voice came in through the coms. “I’ve got company on my level.”

“Me, too,” Nat added, her voice low, as if she was hiding from something, “at least six outside my hall.”

“Looks like we’ve got a full-scale invasion on our hands,” Tony chimed in and the whirring of his suit buzzed through the coms as he spoke. “Wilson and Barnes, you’re are on your own for now, I’m afraid.”

“Not a problem,” Sam responded with a smirk, nodding at Bucky confidently. It was his easiest defense mechanism when things got tough, to smile through it and make jokes, because what else did they have if they lost their conviction.

Bucky nodded back, trying to latch onto the aura that Sam exuded.

It only lasted a second before the echo of gunfire rang out in the hallway and Sam ducked just as a bullet flew over his head.

Bucky skidded to a halt with his back pressed against the wall to shield himself from the open hallway where the gunfire had come from. Meanwhile, Sam threw himself towards the assailants down the hall without much of a second thought. Quickly switching into combat mode, Sam yanked the handguns from his holsters and began firing.

Bucky’s hand was inching towards his gun, edging over the corner of the hall, when Sam started waving at him frantically, turning over a cadenza lined against the wall and ducked down behind it to shield from the gunfire in his direction. 

“Go!” he shouted as peaked out behind the blockade and fired at the two men. “Go, Barnes! I’ve got this! Find Y/n!”

Bucky watched as Sam charged out from behind the cadenza and disappeared further into the adjoining hall, chasing after the two gunmen, until all he could hear was the distant echo of the gun’s discharge, until he heard nothing but the labored pants of his own breath. 

Sam was right. The team was getting picked off one by one from the chaos of Hydra agents infiltrating the base. He was the only one left, the only one who might be able to reach you before it was too late. He didn’t have time to panic and rush after Sam. There was only one priority right now and it was you. Bucky pushed himself off of the wall and sprinted further down the long, empty corridor.

Soon, the furnished halls and room turned to exposed beams and wooden framing, the cool air seeping in through the exposed walls until he came upon the heart of the east wing. He pulled to a stop in the same room he’d spent weeks renovating with Sam. The smell of fresh wood still present in the air, but there was something off. Tools thrown sporadically around the room outside of the box he had left them in, plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling ripped down the middle, and an aura of something sinister enough to get the hair on Bucky’s arm standing on edge.

“It is good to see you again, Soldat,” a voice spoke from behind him, low, familiar. It was the same voice from the speakers that spoke the Russian trigger words. “Let me reintroduce myself. You may call me Cain.”

Bucky turned, slowly, to catch a glimpse of Cain from the corner of his eyes before facing him completely. The scar running down the side of the man’s face was enough for a growl to rip through Bucky’s chest and he yanked the gun from its strap over his thigh and held the barrel aimed between Cain’s eyes. This was the same man who beat you and tortured you and humiliated you on streamed footage for the world to see. Bucky had never felt a rage in his veins quite like this. It was painful. It was all consuming.

Cain held his hands up to the side, almost defensively, laughing, and it made Bucky’s stomach lurch.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he smirked, “not when I’ve got such a fun surprise for you.”

Bucky’s position faltered for just a second, his grip loosening on the gun. His cold, hardened expression fell to one of agony, enough for Cain to notice before he could hide it. The knowing grin that followed only seemed to make the dread churning in Bucky’s stomach worse.

Then, Cain stepped aside, allowing space for something behind him, and Bucky watched with his heart in his throat as you emerged from behind the pillar.

It wasn’t the black, skin tight suit, or the bold, red insignia of Hydra’s emblem on your chest that frightened him most, or the muzzle over your mouth, or the dark black paint over your face like a mask. It was the empty, detached look in your eye as you stared at him, looking straight through him like he was made of glass, like he was less than nothing. You were still, body stiff, awaiting orders and it was so familiar, Bucky’s knees nearly gave out.

“Impressive, ain’t she? Conditioned her myself,” Cain taunted, eyeing Bucky’s reaction as he ran a hand up the side of your arm and flipping the hair from your shoulder. He circled your back with the flat of his palm possessively; his touch on you a reminder of who you belonged to. You were unresponsive to your captor’s hands roaming over your body, too locked away in the confines of your mind to care, but Bucky was fuming.

“Get your fucking hands off of her,” he seethed through gritted teeth, his eyes trained on Cain’s hand upon your hip.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Cain stepped behind you and used your body as a shield. His chest was pressed to your back, his hands settled on your shoulders as he leaned around the side of your face. “You gonna shoot me through your girl here?”

Bucky’s head was pulsing, jaw aching from how tight he was grinding his teeth. Cain raked your hair away from your eyes, pushed it aside and licked a stripe up the side of your face. Bucky’s stomach dropped and he tasted blood in his mouth, his grip on his gun faltering as Cain kept his eye the whole time, daring him to do something about it. He didn’t pull away until his tongue trailed from the edge of your jaw to your temple. You didn’t even flinch. You were motionless.

Bucky could see the shine of Cain’s saliva on your skin.

“ _I’m going to kill you_ ,” Bucky growled, trying to keep his voice even despite the heat boiling inside of him, “I will fucking rip you apart! Do you hear me? I’ll kill you!”

“Not if your girl kills you first,” he shrugged, unfazed. “Listen Soldat, you’ve been a pain in Hydra’s ass for too long. If you’re not going to give up your little fantasy of pretending you’re some kind of _hero_ and come home to Hydra where you belong, then we’re left with no choice but to eliminate you, to _punish you_ for your decent. What better way to do that than with the woman you _so pathetically_ fell in love with? Isn’t that right, эсминец?”

_Destroyer._

You only blinked, unmoving, unaffected by the man’s taunts. Bucky kept his focus on you, desperately searching for a trace of the woman he knew you to be hidden somewhere in your eyes, screaming to get out, but it was naïve, foolish of him to even try. Sam had tried to warn him of that. The stories Steve had told him of what it was like trying to get through to him when the winter soldier filtered through the back of his memories. It was near impossible, he’d nearly beaten Steve within an inch of his life, but he did break through. Once.

He had to try.

“Y/n,” Bucky called out, directing his attention solely on you, even as Cain rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

“Y/n’s not home right now, asshole,” Cain scoffed, earning no response from Bucky.

“I need you to snap out of this,” Bucky tried again, recognizing the lace of fear in his voice he had no hope of masking. You were staring right through him, eyes glazed over. Bucky could hardly feel the thunderous pounding in his chest. “Please, I don’t want– I _won’t_ fight you. Please, baby, just wake up. You don’t have to listen to him. _You know_ who he is. _You know_ what he’s done to you.”

Still, nothing.

He should have expected that, but it didn’t make the sting of your empty stare any less painful.

“Sweetheart, please,” he choked out, the lump in the back of his throat threatening to suffocate him where he stood. 

“ _Pathetic_ ,” Cain grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Never thought I’d see the day the Winter Soldier begged like a fucking love sick school boy. You’ve become nothing but weak since you turned your back on Hydra. We _raised_ you _._ We gave you your strength, your _power,_ and you dare to throw it all away for some mindless whore with a vigilante complex!?”

“ _Shut your goddamn mouth_ ,” Bucky spat, eyes still locked on you because the second he looked at that vile man again, he’d lose it completely. He’d empty his entire clip into him and there was no telling what you’d do. It wasn’t a risk he could take, so he stayed focused on you despite the flinch in his body at the mention of Hydra, of the Winter Soldier, the physical recoil of his past life thrown back into his face.

Cain shook his head, a film of disgust upon his features. “Your makers would be sick at the sight of you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw so tight he drew blood against his tongue. His hand was shaking. Copper burned in his mouth. It took every ounce of his strength to stay focused on you.

“Y/n, sweetheart, look at me. I’m not your enemy. You know me.”

Nothing. No flickers of realization or softness breaking through the dense, stone cold expression etched into your muscles. You were empty, a shell, like he had been once. You didn’t know him. You didn’t even know yourself.

A painful split ripped and tore in Bucky’s chest and he was certain his heart had ripped in two.

“We don’t have all day here, so let’s cut to the chase.” Cain leaned into your ear and you shifted your head just slightly, slow calculated movements, waiting for his orders like it was the only thing you knew. It was. “Kill him.”

You nodded and without a blink in your eye, grabbed the handgun from Cain as he extended it to you. There was no time to react as you aimed the barrel in Bucky’s direction and pulled the trigger.

The fire of the release echoed within the room and suddenly white hot burning shot through Bucky’s right thigh. He stumbled back a few paces from the impact, his shoulder painfully colliding with the sharp edge of a wooden pillar, his leg threatening to give out under him.

He clenched his jaw, breathing harshly through gritted teeth as his hand darted down to put pressure on the wound and blood seeped between his fingers, thick and oozing through the torn hole in his suit, in his skin.

When he looked up again, you were already halfway across the room, stalking toward him and all he could see was the lack of remorse in your eye, the unabridged need to finish the mission, to take him out because it was what you were told. It was a look he knew too well.

He’d never even seen you like that when facing your enemies in the field. You were always cautious, calculating, but you still managed to crack jokes by his side as you infiltrated Hydra bases. There was a smile on your face and you eased him by talking about playlists and trips to Brooklyn as if he wasn’t following you through the halls of enemy territory with weapons in your hands.

You were never like this; separate from yourself, cold and compartmentalized, a weapon of your skills alone.

“Y/n! Wait!” Bucky shouted, calling out for you knowing it would be of no use but _goddamnit_ he did it anyway because the idea of you being lost to him, after all you’d been through together, was too much to let himself give up now. He dove between the exposed wooden pillars, just trying to get out of your line of sight for only a second, dragging his right leg behind him to find relief.

Blood dripped down his thigh, leaving red in his wake and soaking through the fabric of his pants. He glanced over his shoulder and you were suddenly behind him, a hand on his bicep gripping tight into the straps of his jacket and you yanked him hard, shoving his body against the nearest wall.

You didn’t usually have strength like this and Bucky couldn’t quite tell if it was the adrenaline, a foreign serum in your veins, or if his own body was weakened by the blood loss or just by the agony of it being _you_ he was supposed to fight.

Dead eyes clouding over any trace of the woman he knew and you moved to slam your fist to his face, but he ducked just in time, sliding out of your grasp. The crash of drywall followed and you shook dust and plasterboard from your fist like it barely hurt.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Bucky panted, holding his ground a few feet from you as you cracked your neck. “Snap out of this!”

You stalked closer, a twitch in your lip and a growl in your chest.

“You’re only prolonging the inevitable, Soldat!” Cain called out, laughing as he leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. A coward who couldn’t be bothered to do anything but watch.

Bucky grunted, grabbing your hand at the wrist as you swung at him again. He held you steady, watching as your eyes narrowed in concentration and you tried to push forward, arm shaking in the attempt. There was nothing behind the hue of your eyes, no love, no longing, no semblance of the light he was so used to. It was only darkness.

“Sweetheart, _please_ ,” he begged, only for you to swing your free hand around and collide hard against his jaw. He stumbled back, grabbing at his face from the throbbing in his cheek.

You charged at him again, kicking him in the thigh where blood soaked through fabric and he cried out, the throbbing of the open wound aching through the entirety of his leg and shooting up through his spine.

“Look at me!” Bucky was growing desperate. He was running out of options. “ _You know me!_ ”

He saw the flash of the gun quicker this time as you raised at him and rushed at you, slamming you hard against the wall and yanking the weapon from your hand, throwing it along the floor out of your reach.

Electric cuffs on the belt of his jacket released and he quickly adhered them to your wrists, leaving them bound against the wall like high intensity magnetics. You struggled against them, grunting and shouting, almost feral, and Bucky took a second to breathe.

Reaching forward, he removed the muzzle from your mouth and flung it aside, hands cupping at the sides of your face, touching the creases in your skin left behind by the sharp plastic. Fingers running soothingly over heated cheeks and you tried to stretch away from his touch like it burned you, like you’d never felt his hands before, like they were a stranger’s.

“Y/n, please, I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky pleaded, trying to catch your eye but you only growled back at him, fighting the restraints as your chest heaved in the exertion. He was gripping your face too tightly now but he was teetering on the edge of desolation, _terrified_ of what could happen _,_ and you wouldn’t even meet his eye. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Bucky. Just look at me. I’m right here.”

“Enough already!” Cain shouted, aiming a device over in Bucky’s direction, something he didn’t recognize.

As high-pitched ringing filled the room, your cuffs immediately released and you fell from the wall, shoving Bucky hard to the ground before you scrambled for the gun. He didn’t have even a second to stand before you were towering over him, gun aimed down at his chest.

This was it, he realized. This was the way he was going to die, staring down the barrel held in the hand of the woman he spent his whole life waiting for, the woman he loved. He’d already heard you say you loved him for the last time, already had his last kiss with you, felt your hands so tenderly upon his skin, saw you smile, heard your voice. It was all over before he even realized it, ripped away by the cruel utterance of Russian words over the speakers.

He wondered if you’d ever forgive yourself.

You released the safety of the gun, the click of it deafening in his ears, and he clenched onto his thigh. Blood oozed between his fingers and he winced at the pain of it as it shot up his leg. Glancing up at you, staring into the cold and empty look in your eye as you strengthened your stance, ready to pull the trigger. 

Bucky knew that if he was honest with himself, this fight would always end here.

He wasn’t fighting the way he should, wasn’t using his years of training and decades of combat and missions.

He could have swept your leg and pulled one of the knives hidden in his jacket, could have taken you by surprised and gotten control of the gun in your hand, he could have gained the upper hand and had you on the floor in a matter of seconds, but he couldn’t do any of those things without the risk of punishment from Cain reigning down on you before he could get you to safety or even convince you in this state that he was someone to trust.

He’d known what it was like to be in your position, to have nothing but orders in your mind and a determination that out-ruled everything else. You wouldn’t stop, no matter what he did, and he knew there was only one way to end this.

Cain wouldn’t let you leave here alive without accomplishing your mission. It was the reason they’d taken you in the first place, to break you and wither you down until they could shove the soldier into your head and rip away the woman he so adamantly loved, just so he knew in his last moments, it was you that killed him. Another sick form of torture that Hydra sought to punish him with. He’d always been at the mercy of those vile men, no matter what he did or how long he thought he was free from their grasp.

And they used you to do it.

Bucky made a decision in that moment as you stared down at him through cold, hooded eyes. Chest panting and sweat dripping from his brow, he tried to bring back the memory of your smile, your laugh, the light in your eyes he’d so easily fallen in love with.

The team would find you before Cain escaped. They’d find you and you’d be safe again.

It was all he cared about.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he exhaled, nodding slowly, hand gripping to the painful ache in his thigh. He hand was coated in red. “It’s okay.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused, and you glanced over at Cain for answers and he only shrugged, waving at you to get on with it. You adjusted your positioning, though your finger remained steady on the trigger.

“I know you’ll wake up from this soon,” Bucky continued, taking advantage of the time you gave him before it ran out, “you’ll wake up and remember this but I need you to know that I love you, okay? I need you to know that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and this isn’t your fault.”

You blinked, furrowing your brow.

“You saved me all those years ago. Remember _that,_ ” Bucky urged, his voice softer than he intended, coming out in a broken rasp and losing energy fast. He coughed, blood spraying from his lips. “Do you understand me? This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

“ _Jesus fuck!_ This is pathetic!” Cain shouted, storming his way through the open walls and pushing aside half completed insulation. He stood next to you, raised his own gun to your head and releasing the safety with a deafening click. “Do it. Kill him, now!”

“Y/n, it’s okay,” Bucky pleaded, heart lurching at the sight of Cain’s finger inching closer to the trigger, the barrel pressing against your temple. “Sweetheart, it’s alright. You can do it now. I’m okay.”

But you didn’t move. You only stared at him, studying him, and for the smallest, most impossible second, Bucky thought he saw a flash of realization, but he knew it was only his mind playing tricks on him, a false hope he didn’t dare allow for himself.

“What the hell are you waiting for!?” Cain roared, shoving the barrel of the gun hard against your temple enough to force a falter in your position. “Kill him!”

“Y/n, please, it’s okay—”

“Listen to your goddamn boyfriend, princess! He’s fucking asking for it, ain’t he? _Kill him!_ ”

Bucky winced, feeling lightheaded from the throbbing in his thigh. He didn’t want to die, not anymore, not after he’d finally found you again and his world shifted into something beautiful and hopeful and filled with light. He didn’t want to die, but he’d give up everything if it meant keeping you safe.

He’d give up his life.

“I love you,” he said to the woman who didn’t know him, words falling out in an exhale as his eyes fluttered closed, just needing to focus on the image in his mind of you, of lying under cool sheets and curling against bare skin, of warm smiles and the soft touch of your lips. He needed it to be the last thing he knew as the darkness took him under.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I love you.”

Bucky settled in, waiting, hands trembling and breaths shaky in his chest.

But the gunshot never came. One minute later. Then two. Still nothing.

Slowly, Bucky opened his eyes again to see you clenching your jaw, nostrils flaring as a rage boiled under the surface. Your hand gripped and clenched at the handle of the gun, eyes flickering down to the barrel as if the very action of its aim repulsed you. There was a war fighting in your head, sweat beading down your temples as breaths came in thick and heavy, chest panting.

The soldier didn’t have emotions like that and Bucky felt his heart start to pick up in pace again as he dared to meet your eye.

Panic, confusion, shame, fury, all rolled into a single moment and a tear slipped down your cheek, blinking away another. Your lips parted, almost in a gasp, and it was like a cloud of smoke broke from the emptiness in your gaze, replaced with a complexity of human emotion all your own.

Bucky’s chest was tight, painful, and he realized he had stopped breathing. He sucked in a harsh breath, shaking on the exhale, as he kept your eye. You remained still, Cain still none the wiser as you had yet you drop your gun, though your finger had strategically moved away from the trigger.

Almost as if in slow motion, you turned to face Cain, prodding the gun away from your temple with the back of your hand until he held it down by his side. You clenched your jaw, eyes darkening over at you looked at him, losing traces of the woman Bucky knew you to be in favor of a vengeance that ran deep in your veins.

“What the fuck are you doing, princess?” Cain seethed, readying to lift the gun at you again but a scream, pained and broken, ripped through your lungs, echoing through the east wing, and you threw yourself at him before he could move.

Bucky propped himself up on his elbows, unable to do much else from the dead weight of his right leg, and watched as you slammed Cain to the ground, throwing his gun far away from his reach as you sent punch after punch against the side of his face until blood splattered along the floor.

But then, Cain kneed you hard in the side, throwing you off of him and managing to get the upper hand. Bucky tried to crawl towards you, desperate to do something, _anything_ to help as you scrambled to your feet, but his body was fading on him, too weak to stand, let alone fight.

Cain laughed, spitting a gob of blood from his lips as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders, throwing you at the nearest pillar and Bucky flinched as he heard the sound of your head against the wood. You were too slow to get up, unsteady as you clung onto the wall with one hand and pressed at your temple with the other. Your vision was doubling and you fell back to the floor.

“You think you can beat me?!” Cain bellowed, arms stretched out to the side, “I am the embodiment of Hydra itself and _Hydra cannot be killed!_ ”

In his arrogance, he didn’t notice Bucky’s hand grasp onto the cold metal of the gun that had slipped from your hold in the struggle. He didn’t notice Bucky meet your eye for an impossibly short second before he slid the gun across the floor to you. He didn’t notice your fingers curling around the handle, pointer on the trigger as you released the safety with a short flicker, before it was too late, and without even waiting a beat, you fired a shot straight into Cain’s chest.

He stumbled back; words caught in his throat as he glanced down to red seeping out through his shirt. You pushed yourself to your feet, holding the gun with both hands and fired a second shot just as Cain attempted to lunge at you again. This one brought him to his knees. Then a third shot fired, until Cain collapsed to the floor. Even when he laid upon the ground, unmoving, eyes rolled back, you emptied the entire clip.

“Y/n,” Bucky called, trying to catch your attention over the sound of the gunshots, the ringing in his ears from the close quarter discharge pulsing painfully. You couldn’t hear him, firing round after round, refilling the magazine, watching as Cain’s lifeless body flailed with each shot. You didn’t stop until the weapon was firing blanks.

_“Y/n!”_

You froze, turning over your shoulder slowly, like you were afraid of what you’d see. Upon laying eyes on Bucky, the gun slipped from your hand, falling to the floor with deafening sound.

You rushed at him, skidding on your knees, hands hovering over his thigh, his chest, his face, so irrevocably afraid to touch him because you’d already caused so much damage but longing for the feel of him, to confirm the beating of his heart under your fingertips and the breath exhaling in warm gusts from his lungs.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Bucky grabbed your shaking hands.

“Oh, God… oh _, God,_ what did I do…”

“I’m okay, love,” Bucky tried to assure you as you threw yourself against his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him and a world of relief filled him. Your whole body shook with every sob as it made its way through your spine and Bucky rubbed his hand soothingly down your back.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, hands clenching around the thick fabric of his jacket, “I’m so sorry, Bucky, I didn’t– I didn’t know how to—how to stop–”

“I know, sweetheart. Trust me, I know,” Bucky said, kissing your forehead. There was no control when the triggers were activated, no fighting back. It was a feeling Bucky knew too well.

You nodded against his chest, curling up tighter against him and Bucky did his best to run his hand gently along your back. Steve’s voice came in through the coms letting him know that they’d taken care of the last of the stray agents and he quickly mumbled back that he was clear with you but he needed time. The numbness in his leg long forgotten. The serum in his veins would give him the time he needed.

It took a while before you calmed down again, breaths coming back in an even pace, steady exhales warm against his neck, and your grip on him slowly began to ease. There was something on your mind, something you were ruminating about, because he could feel the heaviness behind your breaths and the subtle twitch in your hands. Bucky swallowed, knowing what was coming.

“You were going to let me kill you, weren’t you?”

Your voice was soft, aching, and so quiet Bucky almost didn’t hear it, but it still managed to make his heart skip a beat. He sighed, not knowing what the right answer was, so he landed on the truth.

“Yes.”

Pulling back, you met his eye and he saw a world of pain swimming behind your irises. “How could you—why would you–” you exhaled, trying to steady yourself, “do you still want to die?”

Bucky’s features softened immediately. He didn’t know how you found out about that, about the darkest moments of his life when he let his secret slip to Steve that night in a Hydra base after he’d killed a dozen men. You were smart, though, intuitive beyond measure, so he shouldn’t be surprised you put the pieces together.

“No,” he responded honestly, sincerely, and the answer would have shocked him if someone had asked him a few months prior. “No, sweetheart, I don’t. I’ve got too much worth living for now, but I… I wasn’t going to let him hurt you, Y/n. It wasn’t a death wish, but it was the only thing I could do to make sure you got out of there alive.”

You shook your head, tears sliding down your face. “But what about you? You think I’d just be okay after all that? You think I’d be able to just move on, that I’d be fine, after I– I _killed_ you?”

“You’d be alive.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I know,” Bucky sighed, his hand trailing up the side of your neck and cupping your cheek. You leaned further into his touch, and he brushed his thumb over your cheekbone to capture the tears as they fell. “The one time I was able to break through the conditioning was when I almost killed Steve. I thought… maybe if it came to that, if you were ready to pull the trigger, you might snap out of it like I did.”

“That’s a hell of a bet, Buck.”

Your voice was aching, shaken, and Bucky could hear the lingering heartbreak present behind every word. He knew the gravity of what he was saying, knew he was basically telling you he’d rather you kill him than have to watch you die again, but it was the truth and he was never going to lie to you. Not after all you’d been through.

You collapsed back against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him and Bucky didn’t say anything else. He just held you because it was the best he could do, the most he could offer because he’d been where you are right now. He knew what it was like for something so evil and vile to snake its way into your mind and rip you from your body, to watch yourself commit violent acts and have no control of your hands as you pulled triggers on countless victims. He knew the war going on in your mind and the painstaking guilt of it being him on the end of the barrel, the same way it had once been Steve on the end of his.

It changed you. Broke you.

It broke him, too.

***

You didn’t know how long you laid there with him until he finally called for Steve over the coms, letting him know they he was ready for the team to head to the east wing now that things had settled down. One by one they all filtered into the room and you kept your hold tight on Bucky’s waist, face pressed against his neck.

A short glimpse over your shoulder and you found a deep red gash over Steve’s forehead, cracks and chips in the paint of Tony’s suit, blood trailing down Natasha’s arm from the cut of a knife to her shoulder, and a varying mixture of blood, dirt, and dust covering over most of Sam’s exposed skin.

Steve carefully kneeled down by Cain’s body and checked for a pulse he wouldn’t find. You had emptied nearly two full clips into the man. He’d been dead by the third bullet.

Slowly, the team started to piece together what had happened. The open wound in Bucky’s thigh, the red emblem of the Hydra symbol on your chest and the faint markings of black paint around your eyes, eerily similar to what they made Bucky wear the first time he encountered the team on the highway in D.C. The red in your eyes and the flush in your cheeks and they all knew without asking what the man with the scar down his face made you do.

It was Natasha that carefully pried you away from Bucky. He whispered soothing praises in your ear, reminded you he was okay, that he was _right here_ , and wasn’t going anywhere, and you reluctantly released him from your grasp. You curled up against Nat as Steve and Sam propped Bucky up between them so he could favor his right leg.

You muttered another apology to him as he tried to put pressure on it but recoiled in pain, and he was quick to remind you it wasn’t your fault. Sweet, encouraging, lovely smile on his face and he reminded you again and again, because he meant it with everything in him and if he believed you when you said it to him about the horrible things he’d done under Hydra’s control, he’d find a way to make you believe it too.

Nat led you down the hall behind them to the med bay. She tried to steer you away from the chaos of bodies and SHIELD agents you encountered along the way, but it was no use. There were too many of them. SHIELD agents cuffing the Hydra affiliates they managed to capture alive, cleaning crews coming in to remove the dead bodies and the pools of blood in their wake. Tony urged the rest of you on while he stayed behind to help organize where to send the Hydra agents for custody.

Some of the Hydra agents tried to taunt you as you walked by, sneering at their emblem on your chest and calling you ‘Destroyer’, but Steve had left Bucky in Sam’s hold just long enough to scare the men into keeping their mouths shut as he flung his shield into the wall just above one of the men’s head. It clipped off the ends of his hair as it embedded itself into the wall and the room silence immediately.

Tony rolled his eyes, listing off another task that needed to be taken care of to the damage control staff as he yanked the shield out from the wall.

Steve grumbled under his breath, sending a wink at you, before he swung Bucky’s arm back over his shoulders and continued down the hall. You surprised yourself as a soft smile lifted your chapped lips to see the agent quivering where he sat.

When you made it back to the med bay, Dr. Cho was waiting with a bandage over her head and a kinder smile on her face than you deserved after you’d attacked her less than an hour earlier. Steve and Sam helped Bucky into the bed and she cut a strip up his pant leg to expose the bullet wound on his thigh.

A team of nurses came up behind you and tried to pull you out of the room to examine you themselves but a jolt of panic rushed through you, eyes catching on Bucky and he sat up further on the bed.

“She’s fine here,” he ordered, glancing to Dr. Cho who nodded at the nurses to step back.

“I’ll examine Agent Y/l/n myself once I’ve finished with Sergeant Barnes,” she said and you exhaled a steady breath, leaning into Natasha as she helped usher you to the seat by Bucky’s bed.

Slumping into the chair, Bucky reached down and grabbed a hold of your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips and kissing them tenderly, enough to remind you he was there and to keep your head from spinning in the clouds. You smiled at him though it didn’t reach your eyes, but he understood. It was the most you could manage for now.

Dr. Cho worked silently as she retracted the bullet lodged in his thigh. Bucky did his best to keep his face stoic, to not let you have to see an ounce of pain as Dr. Cho pulled the metal fragments from his leg, but the subtle twitch of his upper lip and the furrow of his brow were enough. You squeezed his hand harder, a silent apology and Bucky turned to you, softening his features quickly and tugged you closer to him. Always so understanding, so forgiving, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A few hours later, after Dr. Cho used some kind of laser to seal Bucky’s wound together and she attended to the minor scars and scraps on your arms, Tony came barreling in with a laptop with Sam and Steve hot on his heels. Natasha sauntered in after them casually and sent you a wink before she collapsed into the chair in the corner of the room.

“So, I found out who the asshole with the scar is,” Tony grunted, propping the laptop up on the edge of the bed. An image of Cain illuminated in the top right corner of the screen and you leaned in closer to Bucky, feeling your heartrate elevate just as the sight of that man.

“Alex Cainning,” Tony started, “was dishonorably discharged from the US Army back in 2010 for a series of physical altercations against his own unit members. Made him an easy recruit for Hydra. Looks like he was a part of the Winter Soldier project for a few years, too.”

You looked to Bucky, wide eyed, to find he was just as surprised. He’d recognized Cain’s voice but he had assumed it was from the videos, not because he’d known him in his past life under Hydra. It would explain his vendetta against Bucky for escaping.

“So, he’s a certified bad guy,” Sam shrugged, rolling his eyes, “he’s dead. What does this matter?”

Tony pursed his lips, sending a scowl in Sam’s direction, before turned back to you and Bucky. “I thought the two people whose lives have been uprooted by this monster might want to know that because of this intel, we tracked down the base he held Y/n at. I’ve got a team of agents heading there as we speak to blow the joint to kingdom come.”

“That includes the machine they used to condition both of you,” Steve added, a hopeful edge of lips curving up at the ends.

Bucky nodded, a wave of relief present on his face and you pressed yourself to his side, arm wrapping over his waist as he pulled you tight against him. Warm and solid and tangible in your hands, you breathed him in, smelling of copper and sweat and lingering florals from your body wash. The never-ending enigma that was Bucky Barnes.

“It’s really over?” he asked cautiously, unsure, because it never had been before.

Tony nodded. “We’ll have to ship Y/n off to Wakanda soon so Shuri can get those words out of her head, but the good news is that she already has the procedure down after spending all that time experimenting on Barnes.”

You laughed into Bucky’s chest, smile obstructed by the thick Kelvar of his vest but he could feel the movement in your back, the vibration in your chest, and it eased him more than anything else. Tony went onto explain the logistics, of how he was readying a jet as they spoke and had already put in a call to T’Challa to let him know you’d be on your way. Shuri was more than excited to have someone else to test her procedure on and while Bucky stiffened at that, you only laughed more.

It was an odd feeling, to have such laughter in your chest and smiles on your faces while you wore a Hydra emblem on your suit and Bucky was held up in a hospital bed from the bullet you’d shot into his leg. But your world was full of chaos and unpredictability and nothing was ever guaranteed. This makeshift family of yours was the only constant in your life, the dynamics between them, the push and pull, the teasing and the heartbreak.

They would hold you together. Even through the worst. They’d pull you back from darkness.


	13. Thirteen

**T H R E E M O N T H S L A T E R**

“I don’t know about this.”

You winced from the cold compress of the patches Shuri gently pressed against the side of your head; wires connecting to machines on your left, monitoring your brain waves and internal chemistry. She pursed her lips at you, giving you that teenage pout, and pressed another electrode to your temple. She’d told you enough times as it was that this was an entirely safe procedure and it was only to ensure that her good work paid off.

In the three months since Hydra infiltrated the compound back in New York, you’d spent your time in Wakanda alongside Shuri. It was supposed to be an easy process to remove the triggers from your mind since she’d already been successful in doing the same for Bucky, but it appeared slightly more challenging with you. It took a bit of extra time but she assured you all the while that you were safe. You didn’t need to go under ice the way Bucky had done.

It took three months but she was able to successfully pull the words from your head. She just needed to prove it. Which is how you ended up sitting in the middle of her lab, heart racing a mile a minute, as she handed a thick red book to Bucky.

Your words. Your triggers. He was going to say them.

“You should strap me down,” you offered for the third time, eyeing Bucky as he flipped the pages of the red book, studying the handwritten notes. He looked up, slowly, a tight smile on his face.

“It’s not necessary, sweetheart,” Bucky said simply. “Shuri’s tech worked. The words aren’t going to affect you. This is all just to give you peace of mind.”

“Sergeant Barnes is right,” Shuri confirmed, smiling brightly at you as she pressed a few buttons on the computer, machine, whatever it was. This technology was far out of your scope. “You will be just fine. I promise. There is no need for restraints.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” you argued, hands shaking and Bucky narrowed his eyes on the tremors running through. 

He quickly set the book down on the table he had been sitting on and crossed the room to you. He knelt by your side, hand brushing your hair back from the wiring, cool metal resting on the nape of your neck.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll be right here,” he said carefully. “If it comes to that, I’m here, okay? Shuri’s safe. I’m safe. We’ve got a whole army on the other side of that door.”

“You didn’t put up enough of a fight last time, Buck,” you reminded him, voice impossibly quiet and Shuri took a few paces back, occupying herself with something on the other end of the room.

“I know,” he admitted, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. “I promise it won’t come to that again. If, and I’m saying _if,_ you get triggered, I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone. Besides, Shuri has this place on lockdown. You have to know she has a stockpile of weapons around here somewhere and she’s more than capable of defending herself. She had to knock me out a few times back when getting the words out was trial and error. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

“It was never boring, I’ll give you that,” Shuri grinned as she continued typing away. Bucky nodded for her to return and she jogged back over to you, offering you a reassuring smile. “Whenever you’re ready Sergeant Barnes.”

“How many times do I need to remind you to call me Bucky?” he laughed, and you knew he was trying to lighten the mood because even Shuri started to giggle and teased him back, but your nerves were skyrocketing and you needed to get this over with. He picked up the red book and flipped the page with your words scribbled on it in messy writing.

“Does it have to be you?” you asked timidly.

Bucky gritted his teeth, an exhale from his lungs. “If we want to be as accurate as possible, yes. A single mispronunciation could throw off the whole sequence. Shuri had to fly in a native speaker last time and I figured since I was already here…”

“Okay,” you nodded, readying yourself. You gripped the ends of the arm rests until your knuckles ached.

Shuri flipped on a switch and the whirl of the machines echoed through the lab. She gave the okay to Bucky and without wasting another second, he began to read.

“Марафон, горький, Бруклинский,” he called out, thick Russian heavy in his voice and you disliked the grind of it as it left his tongue. You took a steady breath and tried to focus on the pacing of his feet back and forth and the clenching of his left fist at his side as he continued.

“скаут, боевой, возлюбленная.” He looked up to you, searching for any kind of warning signs to stop but you were still. You closed your eyes and tried to lose yourself in your breaths. In. Out. Steady and even.

“мелодия, вена, шестнадцать,” his voice continued, nine of out ten. You could still think, still had a steady stream of consciousness which you were all too aware of, worry and anxiety leaving a mark in your thoughts. Your jaw was clenched so tightly, it ached.

“страсть,” Bucky said with an exhale. It was the last word.

You kept your eyes closed, waiting, because even though you had been withering from the pain your head by the third word the last time you’d been triggered in the compound, you were certain Hydra would find a way to pull the rug from under you again, make you believe you were safe before they sprung the soldier back into your mind and nearly made you kill the love of your life with your own hands.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky called, his voice close enough to you to startle a jump in your heart. His hand rested on your thigh, running smooth, gentle circles to coax your eyes open again. “It’s over, Y/n. They had no effect on you. Shuri did it.”

Slowly, you opened your eyes to find Bucky kneeling in front of your chair, the widest, most beautiful smile on his face; one filled with love and relief and sincerity. His hand snaked up against the side of your face and pulled you in for a quick kiss, warm lips against yours and you felt the anxiety slip through you like it had never been there. He pulled back just as Shuri stepped by your side.

“Of course, I did it,” Shuri teased as she started to remove the wires from your temple. “Did you ever doubt me?”

“That was my fault, clearly,” you laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Shuri grinned, removing the last electrode, “you won’t make that mistake again.”

***

In all your time in Wakanda, you hadn’t left the palace, let alone the floor you’d been assigned to and the confines of Shuri’s lab. You were too afraid to be out in open spaces, to risk the chance of anyone finding out those awful words and using them against you. Even with Bucky constantly at your side, gentle encouragements, always reminding you that you were safe here, you couldn’t seem to get past the elevator doors.

Now, stepping out into the busy streets, holding his hand, you wondered how you could possibly keep yourself from such beauty. Street venders with fresh fruits and hand-woven garments lined the streets, bustling and crowded, but filled with smiling faces and children playing between the shops.

“You want something?” Bucky asked, looking to the layers and baskets of fruits as you walked by, then to the gorgeous display of handmade jewelry, distracted by the organized chaos of the market.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling up at him, reveling in the feeling of his hand woven tight in yours. “Just you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not what I meant, sweetheart.”

“It’s still true.”

He led you through the busy streets until the venders sat further and further apart, the sidewalks were a little less crowded, and the buildings started to fall behind you in exchange for open fields and rolling hills. It was gorgeous, unlike anything you’d ever seen.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“You’ll see.”

Bucky wasn’t usually one for adventures. It was always you that dragged him off into the city or to a coastal town or convinced him to go apple picking on the back of his motorcycle. It was you that lugged him along to places he’d only figure out where you were taking him once you got there so he didn’t have a chance to back out. It was unusual for him, but if he was ever going to be the one to take you somewhere special, it would be somewhere like this.

Quiet. Peaceful. With open land for miles and the sun setting over the trees in stunning shades of purples and pinks and reds.

Eventually, you came up on a small cottage, almost a hut from the size of it, the only structured building for miles sitting amongst a sea of green grass and shaded trees. He paused as it came into view, a heavy exhale in his chest of something like relief and remembrance.

“It’s beautiful out here, Buck,” you said softly, realizing what this place was to him, “I’m surprised you ever left.”

“I always did have a hard time saying no to Steve,” he admitted, “but if I stayed here, I never would have met you.”

“Don’t you miss all your goats?” you teased, curling up against his arm as you started walking again, together, towards the cottage. He had told you stories once of his time in Wakanda; how he’d lived a quiet life in the country side tending to small farm animals and finding himself again. Shuri and T’Challa came out to check on him every once in a while, but for a long time it was just him and the animals. It was what he needed.

Bucky smiled, looking to the long metal bins approaching on his left where he would lay the feed for the animals. They’d run so fast, tripping over their legs when they were little, just to find a place around the bin to stick their head in and grab their fill before they got shoved out of the way. It was a fond memory. He didn’t have much of those around the time.

“I made sure they all found good homes before I left, don’t you worry,” Bucky said, pinching at your hip and drawing a short yelp out of you before you started laughing. “Maybe we’ll stop and check on Grant.”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning wildly.

“He was the runt of the bunch,” Bucky shrugged, chuckling, and it was magical just to hear his laugh again, “had to name him after Stevie. I left him with one of the kids who used to mess with me back in the day. That little rascal better be taking good care of him…”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just fine.” You nudged Bucky in the side playfully and he only smiled back at you.

Coming up on the cottage, Bucky stepped forward and opened the door for you. There were no locks, even after three years, because that was the kind of place Wakanda was, _is_. If Bucky Barnes could sleep soundly without ten different deadbolts, it had to be the safest place in the world. You had no doubt it was.

As you walked inside, you were surprised to find it neatly organized, almost untouched from the day he left. Bed neatly made though the mattress was hard as a rock, something Sam had explained to you about soldiers when they returned from war feeling like they were sinking into anything that gave to his weight even an inch. Pots and pans hung on a drying rack, like he intended to put them away but never had the chance.

What really caught your eye was the bookshelf; bindings of red and green and black that filled row after row of shelves. You almost hit Bucky on the arm, thinking that he had been working on catching up on the literary work he’d missed before he even met you and had simply indulged you, but as you stepped closer, you realized they weren’t novels at all. They were journals.

You let your hand graze over the bindings, pulling dust from their canvas and turning back to Bucky with an aura of awe and surprise in your features. He nodded, ushering you to look because he knew you wanted to. He didn’t mind. He’d let you into the darkest corners of his memories if you wanted. You’d find a way to turn on a light. You always did.

Pulling a random one from the shelf, a deep purple binging that stood out amongst the others, you flipped through the pages. Crinkles and worn with use and thick black ink detailed on each page, you tried your best to skim. Some pages had images, newspaper clippings that Shuri must have brought down for him. Old memories and trains of thought as they came out, trying to determine what was real and what was told to him.

You flipped to a page with an old, faded photograph from the 1940s. Hand to your heart, you gasped at the image. Bucky stood amongst a line of men in combat uniforms, hard hat upon his head and the straps hanging down by his ears. Covered in dirt and grim and the brightest smile on his face you’d ever seen. Short hair and an innocence in his eyes that shocked you.

“It was before the 107th was captured,” Bucky clarified, stepping closer and looking fondly over your shoulder, “those guys became the Howling Commandos once Steve came around.”

You recognized the men from the exhibit in the Smithsonian. Bucky had asked you go with him nearly a year into your friendship and it had been the hardest question he’d ever asked anyone. He could still remember the sweat in his palm and the racing in his heart when he asked you. Of course, you agreed with a beaming smile and asked Tony if you could take the next jet out.

“You were always so handsome,” you smiled, fingertip tracing over his image.

“You think I should cut my hair again?” Bucky teased, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your shoulder.

“That is not a decision I want on my conscious,” you laughed, leaning back into him. “That choice is all yours, baby. I’d love you either way.”

“Even if I shave the whole thing and start from scratch?”

“It’d be hard, but I’d get through it.”

“A hero amongst men,” Bucky declared, grinning against the skin of your neck. He peppered kisses to your collarbone, squeezing his arms tighter around you. Then, just as your hands started to snake over his, he pulled back suddenly. “Wait here.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as Bucky pulled open the middle drawer in his dresser, searching around under layers of garments until he pulled out a laptop. You laughed, figuring you should have realized Shuri wouldn’t let him go entirely without access to technology on his own. He winked at you, firing it up and began typing at the keyboard.

“Buck? What are you doing?”

“Just wait, sweetheart. Patience.”

You sighed, plopping down on the edge of the bed, and though it was firm under you, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you thought it might be. It was familiar, this feeling. Though it lacked the blood stains and edges of springs you’d had while at Hydra, but it was comforting almost, in the way that mattress had been for you.

You remembered Sam telling you once that he slept on the floor most nights after returning home from the war because the mattress was too soft. You suspected Shuri had this one made for him to accommodate his needs.

Glancing back to Bucky, you laughed under your breath to see his eyes light up.

He pressed a single button on the keyboard and set the laptop up on top of the dresser. The soft strums of a guitar playing delicately through the speaker of Bucky’s laptop began to filter through the room. It was a careful melody of chords you were familiar with, ones that incorporated piano gracefully between the notes, and a pair of voices sitting in contrast of one another, one rough and raspy, one soft and breathy.

Listening carefully, your eyes fell to the floor, just getting lost in the gentle melodies and hymns of the first verse. It was a song from the playlist you’d made him nearly four years ago. You wondered if you should be surprised he still listened to it after all this time.

You looked up in awe to find Bucky leaning against the dresser watching you with the kind of warmth in his eyes as if you’d hung the moon and the stars and the entirety of the universe. He extended a hand to you, wordless, and waited patiently until your lips curved up in a smile and slipped cool metal into your hand. You guided his left hand to rest on your lower back, gathering his right in your own as you let your arm hang off of his shoulder.

**_Falling slowly, eyes that know me  
_ ** **_And I can’t go back  
_ ** **_And moods that take me and erase me  
_ ** **_And I’m painted black_ **

You leaned your head on his shoulder, where metal met flesh, and curled against his neck, closing your eyes as you carefully swayed with him. Silently. Listening. Reveling in the feel of his body so close to yours, the steady beat of his heart thumping under your ear, his hand wrapped in yours, the gentle brush of his thumb upon your back as it rubbed tenderly against your shirt.

**_Well, you have suffered enough  
_ ** **_And warred with yourself  
_ ** **_It’s time that you won_ **

Needing to feel him closer, you slowly released his hand, wrapping both of your arms around his neck. Face pressed to the crook of his neck as his arms snaked around your waist. He smelled faintly of fresh soap and the lavender fields you’d passed on your way to the cottage. The swaying faded as the melody continued without you and you found yourself just standing in the middle of Bucky’s room, holding onto him like he was all you had.

**_Take this sinking boat and point it home  
_ ** **_We’ve still got time_ **

Bucky nudged his nose against your cheek, urging your face from its home against his neck. Warm breath tickling against your skin as his lips brushed ever so slightly against your cheekbone, moving down in peppered kisses until he captured your lips against his.

**_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice  
_ ** **_You’ve made it now_ **

The music began to fade to the background, passionate strums of the guitar, fingers gracing along piano keys, voices singing in harmonies that lifted the soul, rendered silent in comparison to the feel of Bucky’s lips on your own, the only sense your body would allow you to focus on. Soft, plump lips as he took your bottom lip into his mouth, sucking sweetly, his tongue tracing along the edge of your mouth until you parted your lips further. Tongues swept over one another, open mouthed and wanting him as close as he could possibly get.

Your hands grabbed against the fabric of his shirt around the collar, tugging at it until he parted from you for an impossibly brief moment to shed himself of the material. Hardened ripples of muscle under your fingers as you trailed your hands down his chest, over his abs, and he shivered.

His hands grazed against your waist, sliding up under your shirt against the bare of your skin, cool metal and warm flesh running along curves. Wordlessly, he began to lift your shirt until you raised your arms for him, allowing the fabric to be discarded to the ground. He smiled, warm and loving, as he looked at you, eyes trailing over your breasts to your face and you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, shedding it to the floor.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Bucky exhaled as he stepped forward, ushering you to lay on the bed. As you followed his lead, settling against the hard mattress, your hair falling up around your head in a halo, you brought his lips to yours.

“You see a lot of beautiful women lately?” you teased.

“None since I met you,” he replied with warm kissed to the corners of your mouth, then down to your neck. He sucked at a spot that made your back arch, seeking more, before he mumbled, “can’t remember any before you, either. It’s only you. Just you.”

Shocked by his sincerity, not an ounce of teasing in his tone, you cupped the sides of his face, bringing him back to your lips and kissed him sweetly.

“You’re it for me, too, you know,” you said, watching as crinkles formed up by his eyes in the smile curving on his lips. “You’re all I want, Bucky Barnes.”

He hovered over you, arms caged around your head, and you parted your legs, giving him space to lay his body weight against you. He kissed your lips, soft and gentle, and then with a fevered passion as you dragged your core up against him, eliciting a moan, deep and heavy. You could feel the length of his hardness between you, confined by the cloth of his pants but prominent with every thrust against you.

Chest to chest and seeking the sweet release of friction between you, Bucky kissed his way down your neck over your collarbone, until he pulled a hardened nipple into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the bud, you arched against him, hands raking into his hair. He chuckled softly against you, releasing you from his mouth so he could continue his way down to your waist. Pressing kisses to your hipbones, his fingers curled against the fabric of your pants before he glanced up at you.

You nodded, lifting your waist to help him remove the material, sliding it down your legs along with your panties. Discarding it along with the rest of the clothes, Bucky settled back between your thighs, kissing sweetly at your outer lips, at the creases of your leg to your hip.

“Never gonna get tired of this,” he whispered, warm breath against your core and you shivered.

“You say that now,” you laughed, squirming against him as he ran his fingers through your folds. You’d had more nights together than the first, but every time he touched you it felt like no had ever done it before, no one before him, like every movement was brand new and his touch was all you knew.

“I’ll say it every time,” he insisted playfully, leaning his head against your thigh as he looked up at you, his fingers coating in your wetness. 

He began circling at your clit, watching as your eyes fluttered closed, the evidence of his touch present with the parting of your lips and the moan that slipped through.

“Bucky,” you whined his name just as he slipped a single digit into you, cool and solid, metal. 

Sheets bunched up into your hands and a second finger joined. Slowly, steady pumps as his fingertips grazed over the spot, curving against it, that made your head dizzy. He was heaven and solace and every good thing in this world.

With a gasp, you grabbed onto his hair, tugging as you felt the warm heat of his tongue press to your clit. He was too good at that for someone who’d avoided human interaction for nearly seventy-five years. It was muscle memory, you supposed, though he swore he never touched or kissed or made love to a woman the way he did with you.

The pressure was enough, the swirl of his tongue over the bud as he brought it into his mouth, sucking, fingers thrusting, and you came with cry of his name. Pleasure rushing through your core, your legs, panting in your chest, and you felt Bucky kissing his way back up to your lips.

You hummed against him as he kissed you, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Love you,” you mumbled hazily and he chuckled.

“Figured you might after I did something like that.”

You laughed, shoving him off of you so he flopped onto his back. Mischievous grin on your face, you crawled down to his waist. He wasted no time and helped you remove his pants, pulling the briefs off as well because the anticipation was killing him. He was so hard beneath the fabric, each brush of the material over his cock drawing a wince out of him, too sensitive.

“Y/n, baby,” he mused as your hands trailed along his thighs, nails gliding over thick muscle, “need you so bad.”

“I know, honey,” you cooed, leaning forward and licking a thick stripe up his shaft from the base to the tip. Tongue pressing against the throbbing vein up his underside before you took his tip into your mouth. He bucked up against you, cursing as he tried to restrain himself.

You pressed your hands to his thighs in an attempt to keep him still as you took in as much of him as you could manage. Hollowing your cheeks, you began to bob your head, sliding his cock against your tongue, reveling in the sweet sounds he produced above you.

Bucky didn’t shy away from the noises he made, noises you drew from him because he knew they only spurred you on. They were sinful. Delicious. And they went straight between your legs, leaving you wet and needy and dripping.

“Ah- _fuck,_ sweetheart,” Bucky moaned, fingers snaking into your hair.

He was throbbing in your mouth, so close to the edge and you were more than ready to milk him dry, when you felt him carefully tug you away. You sat back, narrowing your eyes, to find him staring at you dizzily, blissed out.

“Wanna come in you,” he explained, his voice a little sedated and you giggled, nodding as you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist.

His hands sat on your hips, just brushing softly over your curved until you dragged your soaked folds up along his shaft, covering him in your wetness, and his fingers dug into you. He bit down hard on his lip, eyes closing in the sensation as you rolled your hips again. His hands guided your movements, adding pressure with every roll.

Your walls clenched around nothing and you couldn’t stand it anymore. Lining him up with your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit before you aligned him where you needed him most, and you met his eye. Ocean blue eyes stared back at you filled with a kind of awe and love and surrender that made your heart tighten. 

You sank down onto him in agonizing pace, his cock stretching and filling you inch by inch until you took all of him, sitting against his hips and as close as two people could possibly be.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky exhaled, head falling back to the pillow, “you feel so good, sweetheart, so fucking good.”

“I don’t know how I ever survived before you,” you cooed, rolling your hips and pulled a sharp gasp out of him, “don’t know how I got off without you inside me.”

“ _God,_ Y/n, you can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he whined, pushing his waist up against you as you moved to lie against his chest. Slow thrusts from under you, meet you half way as you pushed down against him. Friction like thunder and lightning.

“And why not?”

“We’ll never leave this bed again, doll,” Bucky teased, his voice breathy and panting in the exertion, “I’d just keep fucking you and loving you until neither of us can move.”

“I like how that sounds,”

The sound of your bodies melding together filled the room. His hands were all over you, trailing along the bare of your back, pinching at your nipples, running through your hair, grabbing at your ass to pull you flush against him with every thrust.

You could feel your walls starting to clench around him, the pressure building so sweetly between your legs, and you whined, a moan that let Bucky know exactly where you were. He slipped his hand between your bodies, feeling for your clit and began to rub fast circles against the sensitive bud. You gasped, head falling into the crook of his neck as you grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers only able to find give on his right side.

“O _-oh God,_ Bucky, don’t stop,”

He didn’t let up, his pace relentless and exquisite and explosive and your release hit you suddenly with the push of his hips and the circle of his fingers of your clit. The hardest you’ve ever fallen from that height, the pleasure pulsed through you, drawn out in waves of endless rush as Bucky sought his own release. You cried out, squirming and a moaning mess over him, as he gripped hard onto your hips and rolled you onto your back, not daring to lose contact for even a second.

His thrusts became faster then, more erratic and you could feel how close his was, his cock throbbing and twitching with each push.

“Bucky, ah- _fuck_ ,” you gasped, your walls clenching again so close to your last release. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was perfect and sinful and worth all of the pain you’d been you just to be with him now, to have this moment, to see him above you with sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and a far-gone look in his eyes because _for once_ he felt something other than pain, he felt _pleasure._

“I’m so close, baby,” you cooed, urging him on as the pressure built at your core, “so fucking close. Need you to come for me, baby. _Ah- God,_ I need—I need you to— _ah_ , _ah, f-fuck!_ ”

Second waves of pleasure rippling through you, your walls clenching impossibly tight around him and Bucky came with a strangled grunt. Warmth spread through you as he prolonged his release, his lips pressing to your neck as his arms curled around you. His chest flush to yours, he rolled his hips lazily until he was too sensitive for more and stilled.

Head on your chest, you raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it aside to find his face. His was smiling hazily, eyes closed, and you pressed your lips to his forehead. Playing with his hair and listening to the grainy sounds of guitar and Ray LaMontagne singing from the speaker of Bucky’s laptop, he started to move, to pull out of you in an effort to clean the two of you up, but you held him still.

“Just stay here with me,” you urged, kissing his hairline.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart, I swear it,” Bucky sighed, propping himself up off your chest and brining his lips to yours, soft and chaste and perfect. “We’ve got all the time in the world together, Y/n. I’ll give you all of my days if you want them.”

“It won’t be enough,” you sighed, kissing him sweetly, “I’ll want more after that, too.”

“Might have to take that up with the big guy.”

“Not sure what Banner can do about it but I’ll ask.”

Bucky laughed, his chest vibrating against you and he peppered kisses to your cheek, your nose, your eyelids, your neck. He settled back against your lips, giving you one last kiss, warm and familiar, before he said, “You know I’d spend an eternity in you, darling, but someone’s waiting for us.”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to follow Bucky’s gaze to the small wooden cube sitting on the kitchen table. From the center, a light blue light flashed.

“We’re being summoned back at the palace,” he explained with a smile. “It’s how Shuri would get ahold of me back in the day.”

“Ok fine,” you mumbled teasingly, allowing him to pull away and slide out of you. The emptiness you felt without him between your legs was prevalent, but you tried to push it aside. “She’s lucky she single-handedly cured both of us. Not sure I’d be willing to leave this room for anyone else.”

“We can always come back. I want to hear more of that dirty mouth of yours,” Bucky teased, winking as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room and he returned shortly after, a damp washcloth in his hand. He carefully ran it up your inner thigh, removing the traces of himself from your skin, and rested it between your legs gently.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you laughed, nodding for Bucky to remove the cloth.

“I hope you do.”

***

“What do you got for us?” Bucky asked as he sauntered into the room, hand clasped tightly in your own. He dragged you along behind him, still feeling dizzy from the way he’d pushed you against the wall outside of the lab and kissed you just to tease you.

“You two are disgusting, just so you know,” Shuri laughed, pointing her fingers at the two of you and then tapping the monitor above her computer. It displayed the hallway in perfect definition. Your cheeks flushed red and you swatted Bucky on the arm.

“Shuri,” Bucky warned, a chuckle in his voice.

She rolled her eyes playfully and ushered for you to follow her. Pulling to a stop she stood in front of a series of monitors, all black, and asked you to take a seat. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, looking to Bucky for support.

“Please, Y/n, you may want to be seated,” Shuri requested again and you slumped down into the chair behind you. Bucky took his place by your side and you felt his hand grab onto yours, squeezing gently.

Shuri sighed, exchanging a knowing look with Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes requested I do some digging on someone very important to you.”

You looked up at Bucky, confused, and he only offered a warm semblance of a smile, encouraging you to listen. Your heart was racing all of a sudden and you wondered how it was so easy to fall between this feeling and the joy you felt holding onto Bucky just moments before.

“His name was Private Daniel Henry Welch,”

An image of Danny appeared on the screen, arms behind his back, chin up, dressed in his formal Army uniform with the American flag behind him, proud. Your hand clamped over your mouth, stifling the gasp as you rose to your feet, walking towards the image. Tears welled in your eyes as your fingers traced over the screen. He was younger than you remembered, more freckles on his face when it was absent of dirt and grime.

“He would have turned twenty-one last week,” Shuri continued softly as tears fell down your cheeks. She stepped back, giving you space, as you stared to read over the list of information upon the screens she had compiled for you.

He was born and raised in New Harmony, Indiana to single mother named Brenda with stunning green eyes and long blonde hair. His eight-year-old brother Nathan was a spitting image of Danny; all smiles and thick, curly, ginger hair with freckles peppered over his nose and cheeks. He played soccer in high school, but for the town over because his school was too small to form a whole team on their own. He won a scholarship for writing a poem in middle school that he ended up using to buy books for his English class in tenth grade. 

He was as kind and sweet and lost as you’d remembered him and you still couldn’t imagine how a boy so soft had ended up on the other side of the world fighting someone else’s war.

He was the boy who rushed off base to help a stranger start his car.

Bucky came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and you leaned back against his chest. Tears falling freely, you grabbed onto Bucky’s forearms, keeping him as firm against you as you could manage.

“Has anyone told his mom yet?” you asked Shuri and she shook her head.

“He’s still declared as Missing in Action according to the US Army database but it looks like there’s a lot of speculation that he was killed by rebel forces,” Shuri sighed. “They have no proof of what happened and with you as the only living witness…”

You nodded, brushing the tears from your eyes, pulling away from Bucky’s arms. The world still believed you to be dead. It was Tony that advised you keep it a secret from the public until Shuri could remove the words from your head. You’d had your time to heal and find peace and live in paradise with the man you’d only ever dreamed of seeing again after all that happened to you. You had your moment in the bubble.

You turned to Bucky, determined.

“Call Tony. It’s time we go home.”

***

Tony arranged for a press conference the day you returned. He did most of the talking and explained how Hydra had used a shifter to dissuade the Avengers from continuing their search for you. The room had gone up in chaos when you emerged from behind the door as Tony gestured for you to walk out as proof. Hundreds of questions firing at you all at once, loud voices shouting over one another, as flashes of cameras blinded you enough to cause you to wince.

Thankfully, Tony knew enough to keep you at his side, informing the journalists that all questions could be diverted to him. The room was divided. Some asking how it was even possible you were who you said you were while others praised you for your bravery and resilience.

The public wasn’t much different. Message boards popped up all the country filled with conspiracy theories about how _you_ were the shapeshifter and the real Y/n died that day on the live stream. 

Protests outside of the Avengers tower downtown erupted, demanding the truth, while counter protestors walked the streets to show their support. Parades through Brooklyn and celebrations throughout the city took place once the news hit. Half the city seemed to accept what happened, while the other became wrapped up in Hydra’s lies.

Tony explained who Cain was and how he was the mastermind behind the plan, though he was exceptionally careful not to release information on why they had taken you in the first place and how you’d been conditioned into the soldier. The team had enough backlash against Bucky for the crimes he committed under Hydra’s control, they didn’t need the public speculating about your ability to control your own motivations, too.

Even as Tony ushered you away from the reporters and the flashing lights and invasive questions, throwing yourself into Bucky’s arm as he waited for you outside of the conference room, you felt no relief. Announcing you were alive to the world wasn’t what you were worried about. It was a necessary first step before you could do the very thing you’d left paradise for.

It was how you ended up on the front porch of a suburban house with white paneling and green shutters in an impossibly small town in Indiana. You stared at the dark green door, the flowerbeds handing from the windowsills and the wreath made of woven branches hanging at the center of the door.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Bucky said softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s all you’ve been thinking about.”

“What if she hates me? She’s going to blame me for what happened to him, Buck. I couldn’t save him and now he’s gone and–”

“Y/n,” Bucky cut you off gently, turning you to face him. His eyes were the most stunning shade of blue. “If my ma ever knew what happened to me, if she knew I survived, and someone could have told her that while I was being tortured and starved and turned into this monster, I wasn’t alone, that I had someone like you to watch out for me and care for me… I can’t even imagine the relief she would have felt. It makes a world of difference.”

You nodded, trying to take in his words. He was sincere in what he said, you knew that much, and maybe you believed it yourself, but the pain of a grieving mother outweighed good intentions. Bottom line was you couldn’t save her son. You couldn’t protect him. You didn’t know if she’d even want to see your face. You just wanted her to know that he wasn’t alone.

Frozen, you tried to will your hand to the door, to knock, but you couldn’t move. Bucky must have noticed because his closed fist extended to the frame and knocked three times. It only took a few seconds of your heart pounding in your chest before the door swung open, only you weren’t met with Danny’s mother.

You stared into the spitting image of Danny, nothing but curly orange hair and freckles littered across his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking your over before he turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing on his left arm. Bucky tucked it into his pocket.

“Um, mom?” he called back into the house. “We’ve got Avengers on our porch…”

Nathan stepped aside, though he kept his stare on Bucky. His nervousness was mixed with a kind of awe, almost an excitement, that seemed to catch Bucky completely off guard. He licked his lips, waiting as shuffling came from the top of the stairs inside the house, and pointed to Bucky’s arm.

“Is it really made of metal?” he asked, tilting his head to try and get a better look.

A smile curved up on your lips despite the harrowing ache in your stomach as Bucky nodded, pulling his hand from his pocket and flexing his fingers for the boy to see.

“No way! That’s awesome!” Nathan exclaimed, reaching out to touch Bucky’s hand. You were surprised to find Bucky didn’t shy away from it and instead started to chuckle as the kid examined the intricacies of the Wakandan prosthetic.

“Nathan? What’s going on?” a voice called from upstairs, his mother, Brenda, and your heart clenched. She walked down the stairs slowly, drying the ends of her long blonde hair with a towel, though she set it to hang over the bannister as she saw you, her eyes widening. “Agent Y/l/n. Sergeant Barnes. W-what are you doing here?”

You gulped and you felt Bucky’s hand squeeze yours, though he took a step back. This moment was yours and yours alone.

“I saw what happened on the news,” she continued, scratching her head, “about how you’d survived Hydra. I know my Nathan was happy to see that. He always loved the Avengers. My oldest… Danny… he did, too.”

Nathan’s face blushed dark red and he shot his mom a glare, though she smiled softly, sadly. She turned back to you.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall, “what can I do for you?”

“How much do you know about what happened to your son?” you asked as carefully as you could manage, the shakiness in your own voice betraying you.

Brenda shrugged, shaking her head, “not much. All I was told was that he abandoned his base and was… killed by mercenaries.”

You took a deep breath. She knew even less than you thought.

“Ma’am, if you don’t mind, I can tell you more about what happened,” you offered, watching as her face twisted into a kind of pained realization, “I knew him for a while. I was with him.”

Brenda and Nathan exchanged glances, ones of shock, and she nodded quickly, stepping aside to let you in. She led you to the living room and asked you to sit, offered you tea or water or anything else in her fridge and because you suspected she needed something to do, something to feel useful you took her up on her offer for tea.

As she prepared the hot water, Bucky escorted Nathan out to the back yard, promising to show him a few moves and toss a ball while you talked with his mom. The relief on Brenda’s face was evident as she squeezed Bucky’s forearm in thanks as he walked by.

Glancing around the room while you waited for the high pitched whistle of the kettle, you found yourself looking at old pictures of Danny and his brother. Getting lost in smiling faces and the memories hung upon the wall, you barely noticed Brenda walk back into the room and set the cup of tea on the coffee table in front of you. She smiled fondly at you, noticing your gaze on the pictures.

“He was such a handsome young man. So kind, too,” Brenda sighed. “You said you knew him? How is that possible?”

You took a deep breath, grabbing Brenda’s hand in your own and holding it gently. She needed as much comfort as you could give her. Then, you proceeded to tell her everything you knew.

You told her about how Danny had left the safety of his base to help what he believed to be civilians passing by who’s car broke down, how it had been Hydra who took him hostage, not mercenaries. You told her that he had been placed in the cell next to yours and he single handedly kept you sane with his light hearted jokes, his replenishing optimism, and boy-like wonder as he asked you to tell him all about the Avengers. 

He kept your mind where it needed to be, on your family, on something wonderful and hopeful and away from the horrible place you were.

You told her that while a thick concrete wall sat between you, he’d come to be a friend, a confidant, and you cared about him immensely. As Brenda’s eyes welled up with tears, you spared her the details of the days Danny was taken from his cell, how he was beaten for the information on you he eventually gave up.

She squeezed your hand, nodding along as you told her how brave he was in the end. You told her that you were right there with him and that you did all you could to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone, that his last moments were with someone who cared for him.

You didn’t tell her he had been killed as a means to break you, to strip away your last reason to live so your defenses were lowered enough to warp your mind into their making. She didn’t need to know why he was killed; it wouldn’t make any difference in her heart. Her son was still gone. You hoped that maybe just knowing he wasn’t alone all those months was enough to ease just an ounce of her suffering.

It was painstakingly silent as you finished, tears rolling down your own eyes as Brenda tried to gather herself again. After a moment, she slipped her hands from yours and your heart broke, certain that she was repulsed by you, but instead, her palm grazed over your cheek, brushing away the tears.

“Thank you, my dear,” she whispered, smiling sweetly through the tears on her face. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. Danny admired the Avengers so much. I think that’s part of the reason he joined the Army, thought maybe he could be a hero like you.”

“He was,” you said firmly, sincerely and Brenda nodded.

“It’s comforting to know he had you through it all,” she concluded, letting her hand fall away. “I just wish there was a miracle for him, too.”

You clenched your jaw, knowing she was hoping that her son could come back from the dead the way you seemingly had. There was nothing you could say to change that.

Brenda glanced over her shoulder, looking out the back window to find Bucky demonstrating a right hook in slow motion, gesturing for Nathan to try, before he moved to correct his form. She chuckled softly under her breath.

“He’s a good one,” she said, and you raised an eyebrow. She clarified, “Sergeant Barnes. My Danny always knew he was more than the papers said, knew before all that came out about Hydra’s torture and brainwashing. He was quite proud of that, of how he defended him before anyone else.”

You nodded, brushing away more tears as they fell, a smile forming on your lips because that was _so_ like Danny and it hurt in your chest.

“Mom!” Nathan’s voice rang through the kitchen, followed by the sharp close of the back door. He charged out into the living room, grinning wildly, wanting to show his mom the new moves Bucky taught him. Bucky trailed in behind, an apologetic grimace on his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “tried to keep him outside but he was really excited to show you his right hook.”

“Check it out!” Nathan shouted in a deep voice that forced a laugh out of you. He demonstrated the move Bucky showed him, doing it about ten times over as Brenda cheered him on. The lingering remorse and grief in the room quickly turned to that of laugher and joy as Nathan tried to push Bucky into sparring with him.

“Ok little rascal, I think Sergeant Barnes has had enough of you,” Brenda laugh, sneaking up to hug Nathan away from Bucky, despite his protests.

“I don’t mind, honestly,” Bucky tried to reassure her but she waved him off. You smiled from the couch, slowly making your way over to Bucky and grabbing onto his hand.

Brenda led you back to the door, hand on your shoulder and she enfolded you into her arms before you stepped outside.

“Thank you,” she said into your ear, pulling back with a warm smile on her face. “Our home is always welcome to you, dear.”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice to speak and felt for Bucky’s hand behind you.

Even as you walked down the driveway, heading to the car you borrowed from Tony, the light squeeze against your palm, you felt a wave of relief swell in your chest. Bucky whispered how proud he was and you wondered if maybe Danny would be proud of you, too.

***

That night as you curled up against Bucky’s side, cool metal fingers trailing in careful patterns down your arm, you wondered if it was possible to be thankful for the worst months of your life. Breathing in the smell of faded leather from the jacket he’d worn all day and the soft thumping of his heart beneath your head resting on his chest, and your months of torture, of pain, of hopelessness and guilt faded away in an instant.

You’d take it again, endure hell and the worst men it had to offer, if it meant you could end up right here, in Bucky’s arms, listening to the gentle humming under his breath as he peppered kissed to your hairline, hands longing to memorize the feel of you against him.

The melody was one you knew well, a song on a list of tracks you’d strung together for him four years prior, and his hums were quiet, vibrating against you. You listened intently as the hums slowly turned to lyrics and his voice was just barely a whisper, low and quiet, but it was there. You curled up tighter to his side.

**_“Well, the night is still  
_ ** **_And I have not yet lost my will  
_ ** **_Oh and I will keep on moving ‘till  
_ ** **_'Till I find my way home”_ **

You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, just to let him know how much you loved him, how you’d cross the ends of the earth for him, how much you appreciated him coming with you to face the mother of the young soldier who was killed to further Hydra’s vendetta. You could have said it aloud, but he knew, and you didn’t want to interrupt the soft tones of his voice for anything.

**_“When I need to get home  
_ ** **_You’re my guiding light  
_ ** **_You’re my guiding light”_ **

His hand gently curled into your hair, palm cupping the side of your face, urging you to meet his eye. The most incredible shades of blue stared down at you, filled with an adoration and love and sincerity you’d never encountered from any other man because no man was quite like Bucky Barnes. He kissed you sweetly, chastely, and somehow it still felt like the first time you’d touched his lips, like every moment with him was precious, cherished.

You didn’t realize a tear had fallen down your cheek until Bucky pulled back, concern littering over the warmth in his eyes as he brushed away the tear as it fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied honestly, smiling though your eyes were watering it, “just thinking about everything we’ve been through, how after all that hell, we managed to survive and now… I have you.”

“You’ve always had me, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed warmly, kissing your forehead, “you’ve had me since the beginning, since you started dragging me on morning runs and through the city.”

You laughed, wiping away the excess tears on his shoulder. “You were the one that showed up in your running gear that morning and asked to come with me, you know.”

Bucky shrugged, chuckling, “well, I couldn’t stand the idea of not being around you. Needed to spend time with you somehow. I would have taken anything. Might have even agreed to go with you to that hot yoga studio in the city you were obsessed with for a month.”

“Careful what you say, Barnes,” you teased.

“Point still stands,” Bucky smiled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. He lowered his voice, a little more serious though filled with the same sincerity and warmth, and said, “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.“

You knew. It was in the same way you’d do just about anything for him.

You’d watch old movies where the actors talked with an accent from their decades just because it reminded Bucky of his childhood. You’d take him up to the rooftop at three in the morning in the cold of winter to look at the stars when his nightmares got so bad not even you could calm him down with your touch alone. You’d call down to that restaurant in Brooklyn that used to be an apartment building and convince the owner to let you take Bucky upstairs for a few minutes because this place used to be his home and he deserved to see it again.

You’d tell him you loved him for the first time through the barrier of a glass wall as Hydra agents pulled you away from what you were sure was the last time you’d ever see him. You’d resurrect Cain and give yourself over to him to poke and prod and mutilate your body with scalpels and that godforsaken chair. You’d lose your mind to the soldier and commit unspeakable acts. You’d do _anything_ if it meant you ended up here again.

If it brought you home.

Where you belonged.

To Bucky.

Draping a knee over his thigh and settling it between his legs, you pulled yourself flush against his side. Bucky smiled, his hand resuming the gentle patterns on your arm and shoulder. You sighed contently, reminding yourself every moment you could that this was real and it was Bucky under your touch.

A soft vibration in his chest, and your lips curved against him, listening as he started to sing again,

**_“So lead me on, and leave me strong  
_ ** **_Like the road I walk on  
_ ** ****_When I need to get home  
_ **_You’re my guiding light  
_ ** ****_You’re my guiding light”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh its the end 😭I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I have loved writing it.


	14. Drabble: Destroyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> walkingchemicalfire asked: Hiya! I am so in love with your writing and I keep re-reading Guiding Light, it’s just so stinkin’ great and I can’t get enough. That being said, I wonder if we’ll find out what happened in the time Y/N was The Destroyer and how she ended up back at the compound out of the blue? I gots to know! Lol, thanks for bringing your amazing talent to the world!

“She’s exquisite.”

There was a ringing in your ears louder than the voice of the man standing next to you. A white hot burning ached in your palm and you looked down to find a gun gripped tightly in your hand, finger still pressed to the trigger. It was heavy in your hand, but familiar, like you’d used it before. 

You narrowed your eyes upon the weapon, lifting it carefully and examining the shades of deep grey and metallic in the trimming. As you lowered the weapon back to your side, you caught sight of a man curled up on the floor. 

He was wearing a white lab coat, cracked glasses on the brim of his nose, and a far distant look in his eyes. A single bullet wound at the center of his forehead and a pool of deep red circling around him. It flooded over the concrete and touch the edges of your boots. 

“Good work, princess,” a voice purred and you turned to face a man with a jagged scar over his face and cutting through his eye. He grinned at you, something sinister and unkind, but you couldn’t place why. 

You realized then it was you that had killed the man at your feet. 

Several men stood against the wall, scribbling into clipboards and murmuring amongst themselves. Some snapped pictures, others attempted to step forward to take measurements and run tests judging by the foreign equipment in their hands but the scarred man held a hand up in warning. 

He turned back to you. “You’ve come so far. We’re about ready for you to complete your mission.” 

You nodded, relieved. 

The mission was something you could focus on. It wasn’t like the constant flush of blurred images in the back of your mind and the haze of fog that clouded in your brain. It wasn’t scattered memories of a man blue eyes or ginger hair and camouflage uniform. 

It was clear. It made sense. It was what you were built for. 

They’d shown you pictures of the traitor who escaped from his duties at Hydra, who betrayed the men who raised him and gave him new life. They told you of the atrocities he’d committed since his escape and the so-called ‘heroes’ he hid behind. They told you he was vindictive, a monster, a personification of the devil himself. 

They only referred to him as Soldat. 

“We have one last task for you, princess,” the man with the scar said. 

His hand circled at your lower back and your whole body went stiff. His touch was revolting and you couldn’t understand why. He was the man who saved you, who trained and fed you. He was not your enemy, and yet, you couldn’t shake the unpleasant twist of your stomach as he guided you down the hall and away from the body of the man you’d killed. 

He handed you a piece of paper with a series of coordinates. You took in your hand, studying it carefully. 

“Once you arrive, press the red button on the inside collar of your suit,” he told you. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded and the smirk that curved on the edges of his lips was sickening. 

“Good. You don’t have much time now,” he opened the back door of the hallway where a series of cells laid in your path. He pulled down a lever to his right and a siren wailed through the hall. The cell doors began to open and prisoners began to sheepishly emerge from their cages, looking around curiously. 

Most were ready and eager for a fight. 

“Have fun.”

With that, the scarred man disappeared and you were alone. It had been a while since they’d had you use your hands in combat. Two knives were settled against your thighs and you yanked them from their holsters, pleased to be of use. 

A man at the front of the crowd growled at you, and you charged. 

***

You arrived at the coordinated given to you six hours later. Copper stung in your mouth and red stuck in dried crust along your arms and in your hair. You were used to it, welcomed it. You wore it as a coat of armor. 

The fields around you were open and green, with trees lining around an extensive series of buildings. Stars peppered in the night sky and it was stunningly quiet, save for the crickets chirping in the distance. 

Something about the curve of the running paths and the lake nestled behind the left wing of the compound was familiar. It burned in the back of your mind where the clouded images were locked away and you pushed it from your focus. 

You walked up the long driveway, surprised to find no resistance along the way. The handle of your knife was gripped tightly within your grasp, ready and eager for a fight, the image of the man named Soldat fused to the forefront of your mind.

You’d do what you were ordered. You’d kill the man they demanded of you and they’d give you reprieve from the electric shock of the chair. It was how this worked. Follow orders, get rewarded. 

Fail and be punished. 

It was a simple system.

You stood at the edge of the building and remembered the scarred man’s orders. _Press the button on the inside of the collar._

The cold press of your fingers slipped against your neck and your felt for the impossibly small notch in your suit. You pressed it as you were commanded and suddenly fire lit through your veins and electricity spasmed through every muscle. 

You fell to the ground. Darkness caved in. 

The Destroyer, it seemed, would have to wait her turn. 

**Author's Note:**

> series playlist can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1szUVDh0lZX0Ta5tVbvPUY?si=-EYdJz4vQ92Ip59UjDN52g


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